'-f"  T 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Professor 
Benjamin  H.  Lehman 


4^^  jvldi- 


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-wyi- 


LIFE  AND  TIMES 


OF 


JOHN  MILTON. 


BY 


W. CARLOS  MARTYN, ESQ. 


PUBLISHED   BY  THE 

AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY, 

150  NASSAU-STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 
the  American  Tbact  Society,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District 
Court  of  the  Southern  District  of  the  State  of  New  York. 


GIFT 


PREFACE. 


A  NUMBER  of  years  ago,  Southey  declared  that  a 
life  of  Jolin  Milton  was  "yet  a  desideratum  iu  Brit- 
ish literature."  This  is  uo  longer  true  of  what  may 
be  distinctively  termed,  English  letters ;  but  it  is  still 
true  of  American  literature,  which,  up  to  this  date, 
has  never  produced  a  biography  of  that  illustrious 
republican  and  poet. 

Before  the  recent  appearance  of  Mr.  Masson's 
admirable  and  elaborate  Life  of  Milton,  of  which  an 
American  firm  undertook  some  years  ago  to  give  a 
reprint,  but  of  which  only  the  first  volume  has  been 
published,  those  who  were  curious  to  acquaint  them- 
selves with  the  details  of  his  eventful  and  beneficent 
career,  were  obliged  to  glean  their  scanty  informa- 
tion fi'om  some  six  or  eight  outline  sketches,  usual- 
ly prefixed  as  introductory  memoirs  to  the  various 
editions  of  his  works.  But  these,  however  useful 
as  summaries  of  fact,  are  far  below  the  dignity  of 
independent  biography. 

Mr.  Masson's  Life  has  supplied  the  English  peo- 
ple with  an  accurate  and  complete  account  of  the 
immortal  author  of  "Paradise  Lost  f  but  even 
should  its  publication  be  completed  in  America,  it 
can  never,  owing  to  its  voluminous  and  costly  char- 
acter— it  consists  of  three  bulky  volumes,  each  con- 
taining upwards  of  seven  hundred  pages — become 

575 


4  PREFACE. 

in  any  proper  sense  a  pipidar  life  of  Milton,  but 
Avill  remain  of  value  chiefly  as  a  book  of  reference. 

A  careful  perusal  of  most  of  tlie  so  called  "lives" 
of  Milton,  revealed  the  fact  that  they  "were  almost 
exclusively  devoted  to  criticisms  upon  Milton  the 
jjoet,  while  Milton  the  statesman,  Milton  the  contro- 
versialist, antl  Milton  the  j^^'^se  icrifer,  is  either 
treated  with  neglect,  or  with  supercilious  contempt. 
Written  mostly  by  authors  connected  with  the  Eng- 
lish establishment,  when  Milton's  political  and  relig- 
ious opinions  are  touched  upon,  it  is  ajiologetically 
and  deprecatingly. 

Since,  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  republi- 
can ideas  and  the  ecclesiastical  truths  which  Milton 
so  ardently  espoused  and  so  ably  exi)ounded,  have 
effected  a  fixed  and  lasting  lodgment,  and  since  it 
may,  in  some  sense,  be  said  that  religious  and  polit- 
ical America  sprang  from  his  brain,  it  is  somewhat 
singular  that  no  American  should  have  undertaken 
to  present  Milton's  life  to  his  fellow-countrymen, 
for  the  edification  and  instruction  of  those  who 
stand  so  heavil}'  in  his  debt.  It  certainlj-  seems 
that  this  republic,  based  largely  upon  his  ideas,  and 
wedded  enthusiastically  to  his  religious  opinions, 
owes  John  Milton  at  least  the  tribute  and  the  gi-ate- 
ful  recognition  of  a  biographical  record. 

This  debt  it  has  been  the  purpose  of  this  biog- 
raphy, in  a  humble  and  unostentatious  way,  to 
pay.  No  special  claim  to  originality  is  made  for  it, 
the  desire  of  the  author  having  been,  not  so  much 
to  Avrite  an  original  life,  as,  by  levying  freely  upon 
the  existing  and  authentic  data,  to  gi'oup  in  one 
volume  those  numerous  and  authentic  historical, 


TKEFACE.  r^ 

biographical,  and  anecdotal  incidents  wliicli  now 
lie  scattered  through  a  variety  of  obscure  and  rare 
manuscripts  and  scanty  lives,  and  to  present  these 
from  an  American  stand-point. 

Milton's  connection  with  the  stirring  events  of 
the  Eevolution  of  16-iO  was  intimate  and  influential. 
Acting  as  Secretarj'  of  State  during  the  ten  years 
of  the  Commonwealth  and  the  Protectorate,  that 
galaxy  of  glorious  and  statesmanlike  measures  which 
made  England  during  that  whole  decade  the  arbiter 
of  Europe,  either  originated  with  him,  or  received 
from  his  pen  their  justification  and  defence. 

Yet  this  period,  so  rich  and  fertile  in  his  life,  is, 
as  we  have  said,  passed  by  in  comparative  silence 
by  most  of  his  biographers;  they  entertaining  no 
sympathy  with  his  republicanism,  while,  captivated 
by  his  poetic  splendors,  they  ignore  even  the  inter- 
esting incidents  of  his  youth.  Thus  Ivime}^  the 
only  dissenting  clergyman  who  has  written  Milton's 
biogi'aphy,  though  he  has  not  suppressed  the  facts 
of  his  political  career,  whirls  Milton  on  through  all 
the  scenes  of  his  boyhood,  through  his  college  life, 
through  his  continental  tour,  to  the  commencement 
of  the  Revolution,  in  one  short  chapter  of  six  pages. 

In  these  respects  it  is  confidently  believed  that 
this  volume  will  be  found  a  decided  improvement 
upon  most  of  its  predecessors.  Considerable  space 
is  devoted  to  the  incidents  of  his  youth  and  early 
manhood,  not  only  because  these  phases  of  his  life 
are  interesting  in  themselves,  but  because  it  is  in- 
structive to  learn  the  foundations  upon  which  that 
august  life  was  laid. 

An  attempt  has  also  been  made  in  tliese  pages 


G  PREFACE. 

to  rescue  from  comparative  obscurity  the  magnifi- 
cent prose  writings  of  John  Milton.  "It  is  to  be 
regi'etted,"  says  Macauley,  "  that  the  prose  writings 
of  Milton  should  in  our  time  be  so  little  read.  As 
compositions,  they  deserve  the  attention  of  every 
man  who  wishes  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
full  power  of  the  English  language.  They  abound 
with  passages,  compared  with  which  the  finest  dec- 
lamations of  Burke  sink  into  insignificance.  They 
are  a  perfect  field  of  cloth  of  gold.  The  style  is 
stifi'  with  gorgeous  embroidery.  Not  even  in  the 
earlier  books  of  'Paradise  Losf  has  he  ever  risen 
higher  than  in  those  parts  of  his  controversial  works 
in  which  his  feelmgs,  excited  by  conflict,  find  a  vent 
in  bursts  of  devotional  and  lyric  rapture.  It  is,  to 
borrow  his  own  majestic  language,  'a  seven-fold 
chorus  of  hallelujahs  and  harping  symphonies.'  " 

Since  other  biographers  have  ampl}'  descanted 
upon  Milton's  transcendent  merits  as  a  poet,  this 
biography  contents  itself,  in  most  cases,  with  mere- 
ly mentioning  the  poems  in  the  chronological  order 
in  which  they  were  written,  while  large  space  is 
allotted  to  characteristic  extracts  from  his  religious 
and  political  pamphlets. 

It  is  perhaps  proper  to  say  that  care  has  been 
taken  to  exclude  from  this  volume,  so  far  as  could 
be,  every  thing  of  a  partisan  bias.  Engaged  in 
heated  controversy  at  the  most  exciting  period  of 
English  history,  Milton's  ardent  temperament  occa- 
sionally hurried  him  into  rhetorical  excesses  which 
in  his  cooler  moments  no  one  was  more  ready  to 
condemn  than  himself.  He  belongs  to  no  single 
sect  in  religion,  and  to  no  single  party  in  politics. 


PREFACE.  7 

In  the  broadest  sense,  Eeligiou  and  Liberty  unite  to 
claim  him  as  their  well-loved  son.  Wedded  himseH 
not  to  party,  but  to  principle,  he  was  impartial  in 
his  defence  of  what  he  esteemed  truth,  came  the 
assault  from  open  foe  or  professed  friend.  Thus  he 
opposed  Archbishop  Laud  when  that  prelate*  un- 
dertook to  stifle  freedom  of  discussion.  In  the 
same  spirit  he  lashed  the  inconsistencies  of  the 
Puritans,  when,  themselves  in  power,  they  continued 
to  shackle  the  press.  He  was  earnest  not  to  elevate 
a  party,  but  to  elevate  mankind. 

In  his  fourfold  character  of  Christian,  states- 
man, poet,  and  man,  Milton  deserves  all  the  respect 
that  he  has  ever  received.  His  sj)lendid  genius  and 
steadfast  devotion  to  liberty  and  progress  compel 
the  homage  of  all  generous  and  api^reciative  souls. 
God  grant  that  these  pages,  devoted  to  the  delinea- 
tion of  the  life  of  one  of  the  grandest  teachers  and 
benefactors  ever  lent  the  human  race,  may  persuade 
all  readers,  to  the  extent  of  their  ability,  to  emulate 
his  virtues,  and  to  be  as  faithful  to  Christianity  and 
freedom  in  their  day  and  generation,  as  John  Mil- 
ton was  in  his. 

The  authorities  consulted  in  the  compilation  of 
this  biography  have  been  numerous  and  diverse. 
Milton's  own  works,  and  his  letters  of  state  have,  of 
coui'se,  been  liberally  used ;  but  the  author  wishes 

*  It  is  j)roiDer  to  say  that  when  the  word  '■^prelaie  "  occiu's 
in  the  follo'ning  pages,  it  is  used,  not  in  its  modern  and  more 
legitimate  EngHsh  and  American  sense,  but  as  it  was  under- 
stood in  Milton's  age,  as  synonymous  -ndth  that  extreme  and 
intolerant  high-churchism  which  bordered  on  the  Vatican, 
and  of  which  Archbishop  Laud  and  his  associates  were  the 
fitting  representatives. 


8  PREFACE. 

to  express  Lis  special  indebtedness  to  the  -works  of 
Masson,  Symmons,  Todd,  Ivimey,  and  Tolaud;  and 
to  Wood's  curions  "  History  and  Antiquities  of 
Oxford,"  to  Philips'  interesting  Life,  to  Aubrey's 
quaint  work,  to  the  Gleanings  of  Mr.  Hunter,  to 
Keightley's  Memoir,  Edmunds'  Biography,  John- 
son's life,  and  to  the  very  valuable  papers  of  Mr. 
Marsh  relating  to  Milton's  later  years.  Besides 
these  and  some  other  authorities,  a  number  of  col- 
lateral works  bearing  upon  the  ecclesiastical  and 
civil  history  of  that  age,  have  been  consulted  from 
time  to  time,  as  necessity  arose  or  convenience  sug- 
gested. 

It  is  believed  that  the  notes  attached  to  this  vol- 
ume will  be  found  interesting  and  instructive  to 
some  readers. 

And  now  this  book,  the  result  of  much  thought 
and  careful  labor,  is  committed  to  the  public  with 
a  prayer  that  it  may  be  esteemed  in  some  sort  wor- 
thy of  its  illustrious  subject;  and  that  it  may  be 
instrumental  in  kindlino;  in  the  bosoms  of  all  who 
peruse  its  pages,  that  ardent  love  of  truth,  that  up- 
right devotion  to  justice,  that  pure  morality,  and 
that  passion  for  Christian  liberty  wliieh  so  prei'mi- 
nently  distinguished  the  splendid  and  beneficent 
career  of  John  Milton. 

New  York,  January,  1866. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Milton's  epoch — His  birth — Ancestry — Parents — Early  characteris- 
tics and  education — His  tutors — St.  Paul's  school — Departure 
for  Cambridge - -     15 

CHAPTER  II. 

Old  London — Its  population^The  great  fire — The  Llermaid  tav- 
ern— The  Spread-eagle  in  Bread-street — The  fomily  circle — Mil- 
ton's associates - - 29 

CHAPTER  III. 

Christ  College,  Cambridge — Milton's  rooms — The  town — College 
disorders — Milton's  opinion  of  the  course  of  study — Troubles 
in  consequence  —  His  correspondence  —  The  plague  —  Public 
affairs — ^tlilton's  college  triumphs — -Completes  his  course — His 
personal  appearance - 42 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Milton  at  home — Situation  of  Hortou — Milton  designed  for  the 
church — His  reluctance  to  enter  it— His  reasons — Condition  of 
the  chiirch  of  England — Bishop  Laud — His  tyi'anny  and  brutal- 
ity— Milton's  disgust  thereat — His  final  selection  of  a  hterary 
Ufe — His  high  objects — Condition  of  hteratiire  in  his  age— Mil- 
ton's authorship — His  character — Death  of  his  mother — Quits 
England  for  the  Continent -- GO 

CHAPTER  V. 

Continental  politics  in  1638 — "The  thirty  years'  war" — Milton  on 
the  Continent — Tour  through  France — Italy — Its  attractions — 
Toiir  through  Italy — Nice  —  Genoa — Leghorn — Pisa — Flor- 
ence— Its  artistic  and  literary  charms — The  academies — Visit 
to  Galileo — Milton's  free  discussion  of  religious  topics — Home — 

1* 


10  CONTENTS. 

Milton's  cordial  reception  there — The  cantatrice — Najjles — Mil- 
ton's intimacj'  with  Manso — News  of  the  civil  war — He  deter- 
mines to  return  to  England — Retraces  his  steps — Venice — Ge- 
neva— Its  character — Milton  reenters  England 77 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  period  immediately  preceding  the  civil  war — King  Charles  in- 
vades Scotland  for  the  purpose  of  compelling  the  Scotch  Puri- 
tans to  confonn  with  the  ritual  of  the  prelates  —  Consequent 
indignation  and  excitement — Scottish  opinion  of  the  "SerWce 
Book" — Signing  of  the  covenant — Demonstrative  excitement 
in  England — Parliament  convoked — Refuses  to  grant  the  king 
required  supplies  until  he  compUes  with  their  demands — An- 
ger of  Charles,  and  dissolution  of  the  Parliament  —  Public 
affairs  grow  more  and  more  unsettled — The  king  obliged  again 
to  convoke  the  Parliament — The  "Long"  Parliament — Its 
power  and  character — Impeachment  of  Strafford  and  Laiid — 
Further  measui-es — Folly  and  treachery  of  the  king — Repairs 
to  York,  and  inaugurates  the  civil  war — Character  of  the  two 
sides - -- 99 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Death  of  ]\Iilton's  friend  Deodati — Residence  in  London — Milton 
as  "Schoolmaster" — Slurs  of  his  critics  upon  that  occupation — 
His  plan  of  education — lililton  enters  the  arena  of  polemical  war- 
fare— "Treatise  on  the  Reformation  from  Popery  " — " Smectjmi- 
nus  " — Milton's  connection  with  it — Attack  on  his  moral  char- 
acter— His  defence — Ground  of  Milton's  objections  to  the  Eng- 
lish church— His  belief  in  complete  toleration — His  own  opinion 
of  his  controversial  powers — The  verdict  of  posterity 106 

CHAPTER  Vni. 

Movements  of  the  Parliament — Abolition  of  diocesan  Episcopacj' — 
Milton  the  champion  of  impartial  liberty — Inconsistent  con- 
duct of  the  Puritans  in  continuing  the  printing  license  on  their 
accession  to  power — Milton's  "Plea  for  Unlicensed  Printing" — 
Sketch  of  the  history  of  printing  in  England — Restrictions  upon 
it — The  plethora  of  books  in  that  generation — Consequent  in- 
convenience of  the  license — Brilliant  character  of  Milton's  argu- 
ment in  fiivor  of  an  nnshackled  press — Extracts — Its  failure  to 
produce  the  desired  change  in  the  License  law — The  freedom 
of  the  press  finally  secured  half  a  century  later 120 


CONTENTS.  11 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Milton's  marriage — The  Powell  family — Folly  of  the  match — His 
wife's  cavalier  education — Her  desertion  of  him — Reasons  for 
it — Positive  refusal  to  return — Milton's  consequent  repudiation 
of  her — Publishes  four  pamphlets  in  defence  of  his  conduct — 
His  doctrine  of  divorce — Clamors  against  his  theories— Sum- 
moned before  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords — Speedy  dismissal — • 
Later  indorsers  of  his  doctrine  of  divorce — The  pamphlets  not 
the  offspring  of  spite,  but  of  sincere  conviction — Takes  several 
new  pupils — His  father  comes  to  reside  with  him — Proposes  to 
marry  again — Singular  reconciliation  with  his  M'ife — Generosity 
of  Jklilton's  conduct — Publishes'  the  first  edition  of  his  poems 
in  1645 — Death  of  his  father — Birth  of  two  daughters — Ai^point- 
ment  to  the  Latin  secretaryship  of  state 13-4 

CHAPTER  X. 

Resume  of  the  progress  of  the  civil  war — Cromwell  appointed  gen- 
eralissimo of  the  Parliament — Consequent  speedy  dispersal  of 
the  king's  adherents — Charles'  flight  into  Scotland — Demanded 
by  the  Parliament — His  rendition — Imprisonment  at  Holmby- 
house — At  Hampton  Court — Position  of  English  parties — The 
Presbyterians — The  Lidependents — Cromwell  endeavors  to  per- 
suade the  king  to  proclaim  amnesty  and  liberty — His  failure — 
Detennines  to  crush  Charles— Intrigues  of  the  Parliament — 
Return  of  the  armj',  and  forcible  ejection  of  the  Presbyterians 
from  power — Execution  of  the  king — The  government  new- 
modelled — The  Council  of  State — jMilton  appointed  Latin  Sec- 
retary— Accepts  the  oflice  against  his  inclinations  and  throiigh 
patriotism — Is  a  passive  spectator  of  the  execution  of  the  king — 
His  history  of  England— Work  on  the  tenure  of  kings  and  mag- 
istrates— Other  publications 147 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Lifluential  position  of  England  under  the  Commonwealth — Per- 
sonal character  of  the  members  of  the  Council  of  State— Henrj"- 
Vane,  the  younger — John  Bradshaw — Character  of  Milton's 
diplomatic  correspondence — Appearance  of  the  king's  book — 
Milton  answers  it — The  ' '  Iconoclastes  " — Great  ability  and  elab- 
orate completeness  of  the  pamphlet — Milton's  bitter  raillery  at 
the  absurd  pretensions  of  the  royal  party  to  religions  imi^ulses — 
The  book  runs  through  several  editions — Its  powerful  effect — 


12  CONTENTS. 

Milton's  doubts  concerning  the  king's  authorship  of  the  -work 
he  has  been  confuting — Dr.  Gauden  finally  proclaimed  the  real 
author  by  Charles  11.  and  the  duke  of  York — ililton's  private 
aflfairs — Bhth  of  a  son — His  changes  of  residence — His  income 
at  this  period - 160 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Jlilton's  reputation  becomes  cosmopolitan — Charles  Stuart  in  exile 
instigates  Salmasius  to  write  a  defence  of  the  Enghsh  mon- 
archy— Sketch  of  the  life  of  Salmasius — His  vast  enidition — 
Publishes  the  "Defensio  Regia" — Sensation  caused  by  its  ap- 
l^earance — Its  character — Milton  selected  by  the  Council  of 
State  to  answer  it — Publication  of  his  ' '  Defence  of  the  Enghsh 
People,"  in  1G51 — Its  personalities — Masterly  character  of  its 
argument — Extracts — llemarkable  effect  of  Milton's  pamphlet- 
Congratulations  and  acknowledgments  showered  upon  him  from 
all  sides — The  fate  of  Salmasius — Milton's  severity 173 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  home  effect  of  the  "Defence  of  the  People  of  England" — 
Milton's  domestic  affairs — Death  of  his  wife — Gradual  approach 
of  blinchiess,  and  eventual  total  loss  of  sight — His  letter  thereon 
to  Leonard  Philarus — Milton's  enemies  attribute  his  blindness 
to  his  writing  agamst  the  king — His  noble  and  Chi'istian  forti- 
tude under  the  affliction — Sonnet  to  Cjaiac  Sldnner — His  notice 
of  the  slanders  of  his  foes — Sonnet  on  his  blindness — His  .sec- 
ond marriage,  and  death  of  his  second  wife — His  afflictions,  186 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Milton's  literaiy  activitj-  not  diminished  bj'  his  domestic  losses  oi 
by  his  blindness — llei^lics  to  his  first  "Defence" — Publication 
of  his  "Second  Defence  of  the  People  of  England" — Resume 
of  the  political  situation — Cromwell's  so-called  xisuqiation — 
]\Iilton's  acquiescence  in  the  change  of  administration — Ap- 
pointed Latin  Secretarj''  to  the  Lord  Protector — His  admiration 
for  Cromwell's  character — Sonnet  on  the  Protector — Extracts 
from  the  "Second  Defence" — Cromwell's  character  as  .sketched 
by  Milton — His  closing  addi-ess — Great  effectiveness  of  the 
second  defence — Final  close  of  the  controversy — Milton  every- 
where hailed  as  conqueror 199 


CONTENTS.  13 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Milton's  retii-emeut  from  the  arena  of  active  controversy — His  de- 
votion to  his  studies  and  the  duties  of  his  office — Raleigh's 
"Cabinet  Council" — Verses  to  Christiana,  Queen  of  Sweden — 
His  literary  projects — Commences  " Paradise  Lost" — His  stu- 
diousness — -The  state  letters  and  papers — Cromwell's  interces- 
sion in  behalf  of  the  persecuted  Vaudois — Sketch  of  the  facts 
which  occasioned  it — Milton's  sonnet— His  connection  with  the 
intercessioji — Character  of  his  letters  thereon  to  the  various  con- 
tinental powers — Eesult  of  the  intercession 219 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  death  of  Oliver  Cromwell — Chaotic  state  of  the  nation — Eich- 
ard  Cromwell  appointed  Protector — His  abdication — Parliametit 
convened — Renewed  ascendency  of  the  Presbyterians — Milton's 
reappearance  as  a  pohtical  writer — The  treatise  on  the  "Civil 
Power  in  Ecclesiastical  Matters" — "Treatise  on  the  Removal 
of  Hirelings  out  of  the  Church  " — Effect  of  these  writings  upon 
Milton's  old  republican  admirers — Continued  and  increasing 
demoralization  of  the  Commonwealth — Milton's  treatise  on  the 
"Ready  and  Easy  Way  to  Establish  a  Free  Commonwealth" — 
Extracts — Monk's  treachery — The  restoration  of  the  monarchy — 
Milton  secretes  himself — Close  of  his  public  life — Character  of 
the  Restoration — Sketch  of  the  principles  which  governed  Mil- 
ton's public  career 229 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Milton's  safe  asylum — His  proseciition  decreed  bj'  the  Parliament- 
Two  of  his  pamphlets  burned  by  the  common  hangman — His 
mock  funeral — Milton's  powerful  friends  at  court — The  govern- 
ment afraid  to  punish  him — The  act  of  oblivion — Animadver- 
sions upon  the  clemency  of  Charles  II. — Milton  summoned  be- 
fore the  House  of  Commons — His  speedy  release — His  various 
residences — jMilton's  thii-d  marTiage — Character  of  his  "«ife — 
Anedotes  of  her  hirsband  —  Habits  — The  unkindness  of  his 
children — His  wife  rescues  him  from  their  tyr-anny — ililton  in- 
vited by  the  king  to  reassume  the  office  of  Latin  Secretary  of 
State — Anecdote  of  his  refusal  to  accept  that  position 248 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Milton  resumes  his  epic  pen — His  acquaintance  with  the  Quaker, 
EUwood — Ellwood's  connection  with   Milton — Completion  of 


14  CONTENTS. 

"Paradise  Lost,"  and  "Paradise  Regained" — Eemarks  npon 
them — Milton's  poem  barely  escapes  the  suspicious  scrutiny  of 
the  licenser — Various  criticisms  upon  these  two  gi'eat  epics,  261 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Milton  still  held  in  great  respect  and  veneration — His  letter  to  Pe- 
ter Heimbach — Publication  of  the  "Paradise  Eegained,"  and 
"Samson  Agonistes" — Character  of  the  latter  poem — Milton's 
literarj'  condescension — His  scheme  of  logic — His  ardor  of  com- 
position undimmed  by  age — His  pamphlet  against  Popery,  and 
in  favor  of  a  closer  union  among  the  evangeUcal  sects — The 
danger  which  Slilton  seeks  to  avert,  necessitates  the  revolution 
of  1688 — Close  of  Milton's  literary  career— Feels  the  approach 
of  death,  and  makes  his  will — Milton's  death — Eemarks  -  -  273 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Eesum6  of  Milton's  character — His  daily  habits — His  size  and 
appearance — Personal  qualities — Habits  of  composition — His 
domestic  character — Hjs  religious  tenets — His  propertj' — Ee- 
marks upon  his  position  after  the  Restoration — Drj'deu's  esti- 
mate of  MUton — Milton's  intellectual  qualities — Temper,  grav- 
itj'^ — Dignity — His  candor  and  kindness — His  ready  and  ardent 
defence  of  his  principles  —  Milton's  erudition  —  Favorite  au- 
thors— His  preference  of  the  Bible  before  all  other  books — His 
influence  upon  his  own  time,  and  upon  posterity — His  influence 
upon  the  English  language — His  influence  upon  the  British 
Constiti;tion — Upon  the  formation  of  the  American  Republic — 
Final  survey  of  his  life — Conclusion 287 


THE 

LIFE  AND  TIMES 


OF 


JOHN  MILTON. 


CHAPTER.    I. 

John  Milton,  one  of  the  grandest  names 
in  letters,  statesmanship,  and  Christian  phi- 
losophy, had  his  nativity  cast,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  in  one  of  those  transition  ages  when 
great  and  positive  intellects  are  enabled, 
through  the  crumbling  of  old  ideas  and  prin- 
ciples, to  new- model  their  own  generation, 
and  to  mould  the  future  to  a  grander  destiny. 
His  remarkable  genius  found  ample  scope  for 
its  exercise  in  the  stirring  days  of  the  most 
momentous  epoch  in  English  history.  And 
broadcast  in  the  furrows  of  the  time,  lay  scat- 
tered the  seed  of  a  growth  destined  to  be  pro- 


16  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

digiously  effective  both  for  good  and  evil  in 
the  world. 

It  was  preeminently  a  period  of  interest- 
ing and  instructive  import,  and  singularlj^ 
])roductive  of  famous  men.  In  1G08,  the  year 
of  Milton's  birth,  Spenser  had  been  less  than 
ten  years  dead,  and  Shakspeare  still  wrote. 
So  nearly  contemporary  was  this  august  trinity 
of  poets.  The  Elizabethan  era,  fascinatingly 
gallant  and  romantic,  had  already  produced 
Lord  Bacon,  who  wedded  religion  to  the  pro- 
foundest  philosophy  in  his  intellectual  theory 
if  not  in  his  daily  life,  the  chivalric  Raleigh, 
and  the  gentle  Sydney,  who  could  write  upon 
his  frontlet,  and  with  equal  truth,  the  motto  of 
the  French  knight  Baj^ard,  "Without  fear  and 
without  reproach,"  and  wdio  fell  a  martyr  to 
Protestantism  while  fighting  for  the  religious 
independence  of  the  Netherlands.  Elizabeth's 
whole  reign  had  been  full  of  that  adventure 
which  captivates  the  imagination,  and  w^as  also 
distinguished  for  that  learning  and  religious 
enthusiasm  wdiich  elevates  the  mind  and  in- 
spires the  heart.  Witnessing  the  meeting 
shock  between  nascent  Protestantism  and  the 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  17 

Eoman  see  armed  ccq^a-pie  for  the  tilt,  it  saw 
Catholicism  completely  unhorsed  in  England. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth 
centurj^,  the  Eeformation,  triumphant  in  that 
island,  had  broken  rank  into  innumerable  in- 
dependent sects,  busied  mainly  in  acrimonious 
controversy  concerning  doctrinal  points  not  of 
vital  consequence,  and  united  only  in  claiming 
from  the  state  larger  civil  and  religious  liber- 
ty. The  Roman-catholic  party,  still  numerous 
and  intriguing,  though  outnumbered  and  ostra- 
cised at  court,  recognized  the  essential  agree- 
ment of  the  despotic  principles  of  the  then 
reigning  house  of  Stnart  with  their  own  ten- 
ets, and  therefore  yielded  an  unwavering  sup- 
port to  the  arbitrar}^  acts  of  James  First,  the 
most  pedantic  and  weak  of  sovereigns;  and 
of  Charles  First,  the  most  treacherous  and 
stubborn.  The  Catholics  were  still  further 
confirmed  in  this  course  by  perceiving  that 
the  Puritans  were  constantly  drifting  into 
greater  hostility  to  the  court,  and  they  reason- 
ed, rightly  as  the  sequel  showed,  that  when 
the  clasli  came  and  the  king  required  support, 
he  would  look  for  it  to  that  party  which  had 


IS  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

been  steadfast  in  its  devotion  to  him  even 
when  exiled  from  his  smile.  If  the  king  proved 
successful,  they  would  regrasp  the  reins  of 
power;  if  unsuccessful,  they  would  at  least 
have  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  they  had 
made  a  bold  push  for  the  reinstatement  of 
their  influence.  A  brilliant  court,  selfish,  ty- 
rannical, and  corrupt ;  cavaliers  besotted  with 
wine  and  license,  grown  heedless  of  right  and 
indifferent  to  justice ;  the  Puritans,  shocked  by 
this  indecency,  working  with  incessant  indus- 
try and  marvellous  talent  to  inaugurate  a  new 
regime;  the  Catholics  alert  and  intriguing;  the 
commons  intensely  active  through  the  dawn- 
ing of  intelligence ;  every  tavern  the  head- 
quarters of  a  political  clique ;  general  discon- 
tent begotten  of  the  despotic  policy  of  the 
crown ;  the  people,  like  a  blind  Samson,  grasp- 
ing for  the  pillars  of  their  prison-house  :  these 
were  the  discordent  elements  which  even  so 
early  as  the  year  of  Milton's  birth  had  begun 
to  ferment :  such  was  the  rotten  society  through 
which  there  passed,  forty  years  later,  the  stern 
ploughshare  of  the  civil  war. 

Of  course    Milton's    mind   could   not   but 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  19 

take  color  in  large  measure  from  that  era  of 
sane  giants,  and  giants  gone  mad.  Out  of  the 
chaos  of  opinions  he  shaped  and  elaborated 
his  own  theories,  based  mainly  on  Bible  truth, 
and  so  grew  to  be  the  thinker  and  the  idealist 
of  the  Revolution — the  brain  of  English  Prot- 
estantism in  the  seventeenth  century, 

John  Milton  was  born  on  the  morning  of 
the  9th  of  December,  1608,  in  the  city  of 
London,  and  parish  of  All-hallows,  in  his  fa- 
ther's house,  in  Bread-street. 

The  Milton  family,  which  was  of  gentle 
blood,  had  originally  resided  in  the  hamlet  of 
Milton,  near  Abingdon,  in  Oxfordshire ;  but 
having  espoused  the  unsuccessful  side  in  the 
civil  wars  between  the  houses  of  York  and 
Lancaster  in  the  preceding  century,  their  es- 
tate, in  common  with  many  others,  had  been 
sequestrated,  and  they  were  in  consequence 
reduced  to  comparative  obscurity,  though  con- 
tinuing to  hold  property  to  a  considerable 
extent,  which  had  descended  on  the  female 
side.  The  poet's  grandfather,  whose  name  was 
John  Milton,  was  under-keeper  or  ranger  to 


20  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

the  forest  of  Sliotover,  near  Ilorton,  in  Oxford- 
shire. 

The  poet's  father,  also  named  John  ^lilton, 
was  a  gentleman  of  varied  accomplishments, 
and  had  been  educated  at  Christ  church,  Ox- 
ford,* where  he  embraced  the  Protestant  faith, 
being  in  consequence  disinherited  by  his  fa- 
ther, who  was  a  bigoted  Catholic.  The  stu- 
dent being  tlms  thrown  npon  his  own  resour- 
ces, chose  for  his  support  the  profession  of  a 
scrivener.  This  term,  at  least  in  its  old  sense, 
is  now  obsolete ;  and  it  may  be  interesting 
to  know  precisely  what  a  scrivener  was  in 
Milton's  boyhood,  and  when  James  First  was 
king. 

Scriveners  at  that  time  were  penmen  of  all 
kinds  of  writing,  literary  manuscripts  as  well 
as  charters  and  law  papers.  Chaucer,  the  fa- 
ther of  English  poetry,  has  an  epigram  in 
which  he  lampoons  his  "scrivener"  Adam 
for  negligent  workmanship.  After  the  inven- 
tion of  printing,  the  business  of  the  scrivener 
became  very  similar  to  that  of  a  modern  attor- 
ney,  or  of  an  attornc}'  in  conjunction  with  a 

•  Dr.  Todd's  Life,  p.  1.  Mitford's  Lifo,  p.  1,  Vol.  I. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  21 

law-stationer/''  The  scriveners  were  an  an- 
cient and  quite  numerous  body,  and  were  reg- 
ularly incorporated  in  the  time  of  Milton's 
father.  The  profession  was  esteemed  an  hon- 
orable one,  and  though  its  members  might  be 
sent  for,  as  in  the  instance  mentioned,  much 
of  their  business  was  done  in  their  own  "shops," 
the  general  aspect  of  which  was  very  like  the 
offices  of  modern  lawyers,  a  chief  desk  for  the 
master,  side  desks  for  the  apprentices,  pigeon- 
holes and  drawers  for  parchments,  and  seats 
for  customers.  A  scrivener  who  had  money 
could  find  excellent  opportunities  for  lending 
it  at  a  profit. 

Being,  as  his  son  has  written  of  him  with 
proper  pride,  "a  man  of  the  utmost  integrity," 
the  scrivener  Milton  prospered  rapidly.  His 
industry  and  prudent  conduct  soon  put  him  in 
possession  of  an  extensive  estate,  so  that  he 
owned  not  only  the  "Spread-eagle"  in  Bread- 
street,  where  the  poet  was  born,   so  named 

*  In  Shakspeare's  "Tamiug  of  the  Shrew,"  a  boy  is  sent  for 
the  scrivener  to  draw  np  a  marriage  settlement : 

"  Wc  '11  pass  the  business  privately  and  well. 
Send  for  your  daughter  by  your  servant  here  : 
My  boy  shall  fetch  the  scrivener  presently." 


22  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

from  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  family,  but 
also  another  house  called  the  "Rose,"  in  the 
same  street,  together  with  various  other  houses 
in  different  quarters  of  London.  He  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  the  line  arts,  especially  mu- 
sic, in  which  he  was  remarkably  skilful.  Sir 
John  Hawkins  and  Dr.  Burney  have  each  se- 
lected specimens  of  his  talent  in  their  histories 
3f  music.  He  is  said  to  have  been  "a  volu- 
minous composer,  and  equal  in  science,  if  not 
in  genius,  to  the  best  musicians  of  his  age."'-' 

It  is  always  interesting  to  know  something 
of  the  mothers  of  great  men.  Such  inquiries 
almost  invariably  reveal  the  fact  that  they 
were  women  of  remarkable  character.  Of 
Milton's  mother  enough  is  known  to  convince 
us  that  she  was  possessed  of  rare  talent;  and 
the  loving  pen  of  her  son  has  recorded  of  her 
that  she  was  respectabh'  connected  and  de- 
scended, greatly  esteemed  for  her  virtues,  and 
particularly  distinguished  for  that  charity  upon 
which  the  apostle  pronounces  his  glowing  eulo- 
gium.  Concerning  her  maiden  name  there  is 
great  conflict  of  authorities,  but  it  is  perhaps 

*  Dr.  Bumey's  History  of  Music,  Vol.  III.,  p.  134. 


I 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  23 

safe  to  conclude  that  she  was  a  Caston,  of  a 
genteel  family  derived  originally  from  Wales.* 

Above  all,  both  the  parents  of  the  future 
champion  of  civil  and  religious  liberty  were 
conscientious  and  earnest  Christians,  of  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  father  had  given  con- 
vincing proof  by  his  renunciation  of  the  errors 
of  Romanism,  in  which  he  had  been  educated, 
and  which  were  sanctioned  by  parental  author- 
ity, and  powerfully  enforced  by  the  persuasion 
of  temporal  interest.  The  sense  of  religious 
duty  must  have  been  keen,  and  the  knowledge 
of  theologic  truth  considerable,  which  could 
enable  a  man  to  turn  his  face  resolutely  away 
from  such  inducements,  and  accept  cheerfully 
and  without  a  murmur  disinheritance  and  ear- 
ly penury. 

We  have  thus  dwelt  upon  the  characteris- 
tics of  Milton's  parents,  not  only  because  they 
are  in  themselves  interesting  and  instructive, 
but  also  because  they  had  a  marked  influence 
upon  his  whole  life.  Their  religious  tenets 
made  on  the  reflective,  strong,  and  enthusias- 

*  Todd's  Life  of  Jklilton,  p.  111.      Vol.  I.  Massou's  Life,  chap. 
I.,  Passim.     Symmons'  Life,  p.  7,  Vol.  VII. 


24:  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

tic  mind  of  Milton  an  early  and  lasting  im- 
pression. 

Milton  was  remarkable  even  in  his  infanc}'. 
Aubrey*  says  of  him  that  "he  was  a  poet  at 
ten."  This  bud  of  genius  was  fondly  noticed, 
wisely  encouraged,  and  anxiously  matured  by 
his  })arents  and  instructors,  until  it  bloomed 
in  the  marvellous  glories  of  his  riper  manhood. 
Taught  from  the  outset  with  scrupulous  care, 
he  was  so  happy  as  to  share  the  benefits  both 
of  public  and  private  education. 

His  first  instruction  was  gotten  from  a  pri- 
vate tutor  named  Thomas  Young,  whom  Au- 
brey calls  "a  Puritan  in  Essex  who  cut  his 
hair  short."  He  appears  to  have  been  a  man 
of  rare  parts,  and  succeeded  in  speedily  win- 
ning the  love  and  respect  of  his  pupil,  both 
of  which  he  ever  after  retained.  Under  his 
able  and  conscientious  instruction  Milton  made 
rapid  progress,  and  from  Thomas  Young  he 
doubtless  imbibed  manj'  of  those  religious  and 
political  principles  which  he  was  called  later 
so  i)owerfnlly  to  vindicate.     Milton  publicly 

•  Johu  Aubrey,  boru  iu  1G26.     He  was  a  celebrated  antiquary, 
and  made  the  history  and  antiquities  of  England  his  peculiar  stiidy. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  25 

evinced  liis  gratitude  b}"  addressing  to  Mr. 
Young  his  fourth  elegy  and  two  elegant  Latin 
epistles.  Afterwards,  when  in  the  zenith  of 
his  power,  he  caused  his  old  tutor  to  return 
from  Hamburg,  whither  he  had  repaired  in 
the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  Charles 
First,  on  account  of  his  religious  opinions,  and 
where  he  was  officiating  as  chaplain  to  the 
English  merchants  under  Cromwell's  rule,  and 
accept  the  mastership  of  Jesus  College,  Cam- 
bridge. This  fine  incident  shows  the  tenacity 
of  Milton's  friendship,  and  it  further  proves 
his  kindness  of  heart,  and  that  in  his  own  pros- 
perity he  did  not  forget  his  more  unfortunate 
associates. 

In  1618  a  very  beautiful  portrait  of  Mil- 
ton's boyish  face  was  painted.  The  picture  is 
now  widely  known.  It  was  drawn  by  a  young 
Dutch  painter,  Cornelius  Jansen,  recently  ar- 
rived from  Amsterdam,  and  then  rising  into 
fame.  The  portrait  cost  five  broad  pieces, 
about  twenty  pounds  in  the  present  English 
money,  or  nearly  one  hundred  dollars  in  Unit- 
ed States  currency,  a  large  price  for  those 
days.     It  was  executed  in  order  to  operate  as 


2G  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

an  acldiuoiial  iiicoiilive  to  tlie  continued  exer- 
tion of  the  thoughtful  boy.  The  prevailing 
expression  of  the  face  is  a  lovable  seriousness; 
and  in  looking  at  it  one  can  well  fancy  that 
those  lines  from  "Paradise  Lost"  which  the 
first  engraver  ventured  to  inscribe  beneath 
the  portrait,  were  really  written  by  the  poet 
with  some  reference  to  his  own  recollections 
of  his  boyhood  : 

' '  "WTien  I  was  yet  a  child,  no  childisli  play 
To  me  seemed  pleasing  ;  all  my  mind  was  set 
Serious  to  leam  and  know,  and  thence  to  do 
What  might  be  pubUe  good  ;  myself  I  thought 
Bom  to  that  end — born  to  promote  all  triith 
And  righteous  things." 

Thomas  Young  quitted  England  in  1623, 
npon  which  event  Milton  was  sent  at  St.  Paul's 
school,  London,  then  in  charge  of  Alexander 
Gill,  with  whose  son,  then  acting  as  usher, 
he  contracted  a  warm  and  lasting  friendship. 
Here  the  young  student  was  initiated  into 
several  of  the  modern  languages.  His  insa- 
tiable thirst  for  knowledge  habituallj^  kept  him 
at  his  books  till  long  past  midnight — this  pre- 
cocious boy  of  fifteen  years.  His  passionate 
devotion  to  letters,  making  him  utterly  inat- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  27 

tentive  to  his  liealtli,  was  the  unquestionable 
source  of  that  blindness  in  which  his  sight  was 
quenched  in  after-life. 

Writing  in  1641,  while  his  father  was  yet 
alive,  Milton  thus  describes  his  early  studies : 
"  I  had  from  my  first  years,  by  the  cease- 
less diligence  and  care  of  my  father — whom 
God  recompense — been  exercised  to  the 
tongues,  and  some  sciences,  as  my  age  would 
suffer,  by  sundry  masters  and  teachers  both  at 
home  and  at  the  schools."  And  again,  after 
his  father's  death,  he  writes,  "My  father  des- 
tined me,  while  yet  a  little  child,  for  the  study 
of  humane  letters.  Both  at  the  grammar- 
school  and  at  home,  he  caused  me  to  be  in- 
structed daily."  These  sentences  summarily 
describe  Milton's  education  prior  to  his  colle- 
giate course. 

In  1623,  while  in  his  fifteenth  year,  he 
gave  several  proofs  of  his  precocious  poetical 
genius,  among  other  things  translating  the  one 
hundred  and  fourteenth  and  the  one  hundred 
and  thirty-sixth  Psalms  into  English  verse. 
These  have  won  high  praise  from  most  critics, 
as  being  clear,  firmly  worded,  and  harmoni- 


28  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ous.  The  translations  are  mainly  of  interest 
now,  as  showing  the  early  proclivities  of  his 
mind  towards  sacred  things,  and  as  marking 
the  dawn  on  the  horizon  of  letters  of  that  mag- 
nificent genius  which  was  eventually  to  sheet 
the  whole  literary  heavens  with  unwonted 
splendor. 

Milton  remained  at  St.  Paul's  school  during 
two  3'ears.  Upon  completing  his  seventeenth 
year,  he  was  removed  to  Cambridge,  where 
he  was  admitted  a  pensioner  in  Christ  col- 
le2:e  on  the  12th  of  Februarv,  1 621-5,*  bein"; 
already  distinguished  as  a  classical  scholar, 
and  conversant  with  most  of  the  modern 
tongues. 

*  The  reason  for  this  double  date  is,  that  prior  to  1752  the 
year  in  England  began,  not  on  the  1st  of  January,  but  on  the  25th 
of  ilarch.  All  those  days  therefore  which  intervened  between  the 
31st  of  December  and  the  25th  of  March,  which  we  should  now 
date  as  belonging  to  a  particular  year,  were  then  dated  as  belong- 
ing to  the  year  preceding  that.  As  we  now  date,  Jlilton  entered 
college  in  February,  1625,  but  in  the  old  reckoning  it  was  Febru- 
ary, 1624 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  29 


CHAPTER    II. 

Before  accompan3ing  Milton  to  Cam- 
bridge, we  desire  to  turn  aside  and  devote  a 
chapter  to  the  scenes,  influences,  and  society 
of  his  bojiiood.  It  has  been  well  said  that  a 
great  part  of  the  education  of  every  child  con- 
sists of  those  impressions,  visual  and  other, 
which  its  senses  are  busily  though  uncon- 
Bciousl}^  drinking  in  from  the  scenes  amid 
which  it  daily  lives.  Familiarity  therefore 
with  the  early  associations  of  famous  men,  not 
unfrequently  affords  a  key  to  their  whole  char- 
acter. 

The  London  of  1608  was  not  that  mam- 
moth Babel,  the  London  of  our  time.  In  place 
of  its  present  two  millions  and  a  half  of  inhab- 
itants, the  city  contained,  in  the  days  when 
Milton's  boyish  feet  trod  its  pavements,  some- 
thing under  two  hundred  thousand  souls.  The 
great  fire  of  1666  licked  up  with  its  flaming 
tongues  most  of  the  antiquities  of  London. 
Bread-street,  Cheapside,  the  old  taverns,  round 


30  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

wnose  quaint  gables  clustered  the  rich  tradi- 
tions of  the  past,  the  famous  tenements  of  the 
rich  burghers — all  succumbed.  The  burned 
district  was,  however,  rebuilt  with  as  strict 
attention  to  the  old  sites  as  the  surveyor's  art 
of  that  day  could  insure ;  so  that  these  portions 
of  the  cit}^  occupy  the  same  relative  position 
on  the  map  of  London  as  before  the  fire.  We 
may  therefore,  with  a  little  faith  and  a  little 
fancy,  rcpeople  the  old  streets  until  the  past 
shall  once  more  live  and  breathe. 

Cheapside  was  then,  as  now,  a  famous  thor- 
oughfare, gay  with  shops,  and  bustling  with 
traffic.  ]\Iilton  had  onl}"  to  go  a  few  paces 
from  his  father's  door  to  see  the  whole  of  that 
great  street  almost  at  a  glance.  Here  the  din 
of  trade  was  at  its  loudest.  The  shops  of  the 
mercers  and  goldsmiths  lined  the  sidewalks. 
Some  of  the  most  noted  hostelries  of  the  city 
there  welcomed  travellers.  Multitudinous  foot- 
passengers  thronged  the  pavements,  while 
horsemen,  chairs,  and  an  occasional  coach — 
for  of  late  years  these  vehicles  had  come  into 
fashion,  and  the  complaint  was  made  that 
"  the  world  was  running  on  wheels  with  many 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  31 

whose  parents  had  been  glad  to  go  on  foot" — 
passed  and  repassed.  Whenever  there  was 
any  city  pageant,  it  was  snre  to  pass  through 
Cheapside.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  street, 
with  its  houses  of  various  heights,  nearly  all 
turned  gablewise  to  the  street,  all  with  pro- 
jecting upper-stories  of  wood-work,  and  dotted 
with  latticed  windows,  was  strangely  pictur- 
esque. Some  of  the  buildings  were,  according 
to  the  ideas  of  that  age,  as  imposing  as  any  in 
Christendom.  Eastward  was  a  row  of  many 
"fair  and  large  houses  possessed  of  mercers;" 
and  westward,  beginning  at  the  very  corner 
of  Bread-street,  was  another  row,  "the  most 
beautiful  frame  of  fair  houses  and  shops,"  says 
Stow,  a  careful  antiquarian,  "that  be  within 
the  walls  of  London,  or  elsewhere  in  Eng- 
land." 

Bread-street  stretched  southward  from 
Cheapside,  and  was  "so  called,"  says  Stow, 
"of  bread  anciently  sold  there."  It  was  in 
Milton's  youth  one  of  the  most  respectable 
streets  in  the  city,  "wholly  inhabited  by  rich 
merchants,"  who  had  their  shops  below  and 
their  dwellings  above.     It  could  boast  of  two 


32  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

parish  churches,  and  of  "  divers  fair  inns  for 
good  receipt  of  carriers  and  other  travellers." 
"The  Spread-eagle,"  the  shop  and  dwelling 
of  the  scrivener  Milton,  was,  as  we  have  seen, 
situated  in  this  street:  It  was  a  commodious 
and  sightly  building,  fully  in  accordance  with 
its  owner's  prosperous  circumstances,  and  was 
not  at  all  put  to  the  blush  by  its  neighbors. 
Near  this  house  was  the  parish  church  of  All- 
hallows,  where  Milton  sat  every  Sunday  with 
his  father  and  mother,  and  in  which  he  had 
been  christened. 

Also  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  was 
the  famous  "Mermaid  tavern,"  the  resort  of 
Shakspeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Beaumont,  Fletcher, 
and  other  great  spirits  of  the  time,  of  which 
Beaumont  thus  speaks  in  a  sonnet  to  Ben 
Jonson : 

"What  things  have  we  seen 
Done  at  the  Mermaid !  heard  -words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  they  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  soul  in  a  jest, 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life  ;  then,  when  there  hath  been  thrown 
Wit  able  enough  to  justify  the  town 
For  three  days  past — wit  that  might  warriint  be 
For  the  whole  city  to  talk  foolishly 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  33 

Till  that  were  cancelled  ;  and  when  that  was  gone, 
"We  left  an  air  behind  us  which  alone 
Was  able  to  make  the  two  next  companies 
Eight  witty,  though  but  downright  fools." 

Something  of  all  this  the  youthful  eyes  of 
Milton  must  have  taken  in.  But  more  impor- 
tant than  contact  with  the  world  of  city  sights 
and  the  gay  humors  of  the  town,  was  the  daily 
routine  of  his  home  existence.  Let  us  then 
step  across  the  threshold  of  the  Spread-eagle, 
and  while  the  roar  of  Cheapside  and  the  sur- 
rounding city  is  muffled  in  the  distance,  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  family  circle. 

We  see  a  warm  and  happy  home.  Peace, 
comfort,  and  industry  reign  within  it.  Dur- 
ing the  day  the  scrivener  is  busy  with  his 
apprentices  and  clients ;  but  in  the  evening 
the  family  are  gathered  together,  the  father  on 
one  side,  the  mother  on  the  other,  the  eldest 
daughter  Anne  and  her  brother  John  seated 
near,  with  little  Kit,  afterwards  Sir  Christo- 
pher Milton,  who  was  seven  years  younger 
than  John,  at  his  mother's  knee.  A  grave, 
Puritanic  piety  was  then  the  order  of  the  day 
in  the  households  of  most  of  the  respectable 
citizens  of  London.      Religious   reading  and 

2* 


34  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

devout  exercises  ^Youl(l  therefore  be  the  daily 
practice  of  the  family.  la  this  way  a  predis- 
position towards  the  serious,  a  regard  for 
religion  as  the  chief  concern  of  life,  and  a 
dutiful  love  of  the  parents  who  so  taught  him, 
would  be  cultivated  in  Milton  from  his  infan- 
cy.  Happ3^  child  to  have  such  parents ;  happy 
parents  to  have  such  a  child. 

Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the 
fondness  of  Milton's  father  for  music.  The 
composer  of  a  variety  of  madrigals,  he  had 
also  devoted  his  talent  to  harmonizing  a  num- 
ber of  the  Psalms— those  familiar  tunes,  Nor- 
wich and  York,  being  both  of  them  his  lyrical 
productions.  "The  tenor  part  of  York  tune," 
says  old  Sir  John  Hawkins,  "was  so  well 
known  in  ni}^  days,  that  half  the  nurses  in 
England  were  used  to  sing  it  by  way  of  lulla- 
by',"  and  the  chimes  of  many  country  churches 
had  "played  it  six  or  eight  times  in  twenty- 
four  hours,  from  time  immemorial." 

That  his  father  was  a  man  so  gifted  was 
very  material  to  Milton.  In  his  scheme  for 
an  improved  education  for  children,  he  gives  a 
high  place  to  music.     "The  intervals  of  more 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  35 

severe  labor,"  lie  sa^'s,  "might  both  with  profit 
and  delight  be  taken  up  in  recreating  and 
composing  their  travailed  spirits  with  the  sol- 
emn and  divine  harmonies  of  music  heard  or 
learned,  either  wdiile  the  skilful  organist  plies 
his  grave  or  fanciful  descant  in  loft}^  fugues, 
or  the  whole  symphony  with  artful  and  un- 
imaginable touches,  adorn  and  grace  the  well- 
studied  chords  of  some  choice  composer;  some- 
times the  lute  or  soft  organ-stop  waiting  on 
elegant  voices,  either  to  religious,  martial,  or 
civil  ditties,  which,  if  wise  men  and  proph- 
ets be  not  extremely  out,  have  a  great  power 
over  dispositions  and  manners,  to  smooth  and 
make  them  gentle."  Of  this  kind  of  education 
Milton  had  the  full  advantage,  and  it  was  a 
source  of  amusement  and  praise  which  yielded 
him  throughout  the  stormy  phases  of  his  life 
the  sweetest  consolation.  Often  as  a  child  he 
must  have  bent  over  his  father  while  compos- 
ing, or  listened  to  him  as  he  played.  Often, 
at  evening,  when  two  or  three  of  his  father's 
musical  acquaintances  would  call,  the  voices 
in  the  Spread-eagle  would  sufl&ce  for  a  little 
household  concert.    Then  if  one  of  his  father's 


3G  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

compositions  were  selected,  the  words  might 
be, 

' '  O  liail  I  Things,  like  as  a  dove, 

Then  should  I  from  these  troubles  fly ; 
To  wilderness  I  would  remove, 

To  spend  my  life,  and  there  to  die." 

Or  perhaps  the  selection  was  the  2Tth  Psalm, 
especially  adapted  to  York,  and  pregnant  with 
deep  significance : 

' '  The  Lord  is  both  my  health  and  light, 

Shall  man  make  me  dismayed  ? 
Sith  God  doth  give  me  strength  and  might, 

Why  should  I  be  afraid  ? 
"\Miile  that  my  foes  ■with  all  their  strength, 

Begin  with  me  to  bawl, 
And  think  to  eat  me  up  at  length, 

ThemselvesTiave  caught  the  fall." 

Joining  in  the  chorus  with  his  sweet  j'oung 
voice,  Milton  became  a  singer  almost  as  soon 
as  he  could  speak.  We  can  see  him  tottling 
to  the  organ,  his  tiny  feet  scarce  able  to  bear 
their  burden,  and  picking  out  little  melodies 
by  ear,  and  stretching  his  lingers  in  search  of 
pleasing  chords !  According  to  Aubrey,  his 
father  taught  him  the  whole  theory  of  music, 
and  made  him  an  accomplished  organist.  Af- 
terwards, when  his  philanthropic  labors  had 
brought  upon  him  persecution,  poverty,  and 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  37 

distress,  when  the  hoarse  clamors  of  the  fickle 
multitude  sounded  ominously  in  his  ears,  the 
young  musician,  then  grown  old,  blind,  and 
infirm,  would  still,  as  in  happier  days,  repair 
serenely  to  his  organ 

" to  sing, 


And  build  the  lofty  rhyme. " 

Here  the  sightless  poet,  forgetting  the  cares 
and  vexations  of  his  checkered  career,  peo- 
pled the  dim  twilight  with  the  Seraphim  and 
Cherubim  of  his  august  dreams.  So  David, 
flying  from  the  vanities  of  earth,  poured  out 
his  soul  in  praises  to  his  Creator  upon  the 
psaltery  and  the  harp.  So  Luther  sought,  in 
his  tumultuous  age,  recreation  and  composure 
from  his  plaintive  violin. 

But  in  the  most  musical  household,  music 
occupies  but  a  portion  of  the  domestic  even- 
ing; and  sometimes  it  would  not  be  musical 
friends,  but  acquaintances  of  more  general  or 
difi'erent  tastes,  that  would  step  in  to  soend  an 
hour  or  two  at  the  Spread-eagle. 

The  Eev.  Richard  Stocke,  pastor  of  the  par- 
ish of  All-hallows,  was  a  frequent  and  welcome 
visitor.     "This  worthy,"  says  Fuller,  "  was  a 


38  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

constant,  judicious,  and  religious  preacher," 
a  "  zealous  Puritan."  There  were  young  men, 
afterwards  high  in  the  church,  who  made  it  a 
point  never  to  miss  one  of  his  sermons.  In 
one  essential  part  of  a  pastor's  duty,  that  of 
interesting  the  young,  he  had  a  peculiar  fac- 
ulty. Indeed  his  influence  over  the  entire 
parish  was  extraordinarv  ;  and  the  fruit  of  his 
labors,  "in  converting  many  and  confirming 
more  in  religion,"  was  abundantly  to  be  seen. 
Then  one  of  the  elder  Milton's  coparish- 
ioners  and  nearest  neighbors  was  Humphrey 
Lownes,  a  printer  and  publisher,  residing  at 
the  sign  of  the  "Star,"  in  Bread-street,  one  of 
a  family  then  and  since  well  known  in  the 
literary  world,  and  himself  a  man  of  worth 
and  ingenuit}'.  With  Lownes,  Milton  struck  a 
great  friendship  ;  and  the  publisher,  perceiving 
the  boy's  wondrous  precocity  and  appetite  for 
reading,  loaned  him  from  time  to  time  such 
books  as  he  desired.  In  this  manner  he  first 
read  Spenser's  works  and  the  poems  of  that 
quaint  old  pedant  Sylvester,  for  whom  Milton 
then  entertained  a  profound  admiration,  much 
modified  however  in  mature  life. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  39 

Among  the  frequenters  of  the  Spread-eagle 
at  that  time  there  was  also  at  least  one  author, 
John  Lane,  whom  Milton's  nephew,  Philips, 
calls  "a  fine  old  queen  Elizabeth  gentleman," 
the  author  of  several  poems,  but  who  has 
now  passed  from  remembrance. 

If  Mr.  Stocke,  Humphrey  Lownes,  and 
John  Lane  met  in  an  evening  at  the  hospita- 
ble hearth  of  the  scrivener,  there  were  other 
interesting  topics  besides  Stocke's  theology, 
Lownes'  books,  Lane's  poetry,  and  Milton's 
music  to  invite  conversation.  Undoubtedly 
the  talk  would  often  drift  upon  the  gloomy 
state  of  national  affairs.  Ever  since  the  famous 
Hampton  Court  conference,  held  in  1603-4,  at 
which  both  the  great  Protestant  parties  had 
appeared  before  the  king,  James  First,  to  plead 
their  views  and  enlist  his  sympathies,  the  hopes 
entertained  by  the  Puritan  party  had  been 
more  and  more  disappointed.  The  Scottish 
sovereign  had  become,  as  decidedly  as  his 
predecessor,  the  supporter  of  prelacy  in  the 
church,  and  the  maintainer  of  the  most  ultra 
notions  of  the  royal  prerogative  in  the  state. 
In  an  English  household  like  that  of  the  elder 


40  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Milton,  it  is  certain  that  this  state  of  things 
must  have  provoked  frequent  and  aggrieved 
comment — comment  which  the  mature  and 
inquiring  mind  of  the  boyish  poet  must  have 
easily  understood  and  treasured  up. 

Such  were  some  of  the  scenes  amid  which 
John  Milton  was  reared — such  some  of  the 
early  influences  which  surrounded  him — such 
some  of  his  first  associates.  It  was  at  this  pe- 
riod of  his  life,  as  it  may  be  supposed,  that  he 
imbibed  that  spirit  of  devotion  which  actuated 
his  bosom  to  his  latest  moment  upon  earth. 
We  need  not  extend  our  search  beyond  his  own 
hearthstone  for  the  influences  which  mould- 
ed his  life  and  anchored  it  to  truth.  The 
warm  religious  sentiments  there  communicated 
to  his  mind  were  strengthened  by  the  precepts 
and  practice  of  his  preceptor,  Thomas  Young, 
in  whom  religion  was  exalted  into  enthusiasm, 
and  who  submitted,  as  we  have  seen,  to  exile 
upon  the  requisition  of  his  conscience.  But 
whatever  may  have  been  the  source  of  his 
fervid  spirit,  its  action  upon  Milton's  mind  was 
from  the  outset  powerfully  marked  ;  it  seemed 
to  enlarge  his  mental  capacity,  and  to  give  his 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  41 

faculties  direction  and  emphasis.  Invigorating 
and  elevating,  we  are  nnquestionably  indebted 
to  devotion  not  merely  for  the  subject,  but  in 
large  part  for  the  sublimity  of  the  "Paradise 
Lost." 


42  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER    III. 

It  is  not  known  preciselj^  wh}'  the  elder 
Milton  selected  Cambridge  for  his  son,  espec- 
ially' as  he  ma}"  be  supposed  to  have  been 
somewhat  prejudiced  in  favor  of  the  rival  uni- 
versity, Oxford,  where  he  had  himself  studied. 
In  the  absence  of  all  authoritative  data,  specu- 
lation only  is  possible.  The  real  cause  of  the 
choice  may  have  been  in  the  reputation  which 
Christ  College,  tlie  special  department  of 
Cambridge  to  which  Milton  was  dispatched, 
had  acquired  as  the  seat  not  only  of  sound 
learning,  but  also  of  vital  and  evangelical  piet3^ 
"  It  may  without  flattery  be  said  of  this  house," 
says  old  Fuller,  ''  'many  daughters  have  done 
virtuously,  but  thou  excellest  them  all,'  if  w^e 
consider  the  many  divines  who  in  so  short  a 
time  have  here  had  their  education."  A  num- 
ber of  distinguished  prelates  had  indeed  in  the 
preceding  century  been  graduated  there,  while 
the  genius  of  the  college  pointed  proudly  to 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  d3 

the  roll  of  its  alumni  which  embraced  the 
names  of  the  reformer  Latimer,  the  antiquarian 
Leland,  Harrington  the  translator  of  that 
elegant  Italian  poet  Ariosto,  and  Sir  Philip 
Sidney — a  very  honorable  list. 

Christ  College  was  one  of  the  most  com- 
fortable, as  it  was  among  the  largest,  in  the 
university.  It  was  substantially  built,  with  a 
spacious  inner  quadrangle,  a  handsome  dining- 
hall,  and  an  extensive  garden,  provided  with 
a  bowling-green,  a  pond,  and  alcoves ;  it  also 
possessed  shady  walks,  in  true  academic  taste. 

Tradition  still  points  out  Milton's  rooms. 
"  They  were,"  says  Masson,  "  in  the  older  part 
of  the  building,  on  the  left  side  of  the  court,  as 
you  enter  through  the  street-gate;  the  first 
floor  rooms  on  the  first  stair  on  that  side.  The 
rooms  consist  at  present  of  a  small  study,  with 
two  windows  looking  into  the  court,  and  a  very 
small  bed-room  adjoining.  They  do  not  seem 
to  have  been  altered  at  all  since  Milton's  time." 
As  soon  as  he  had  settled  himself  in  his  apart- 
ments, which  he  retained  until  he  quitted  Cam- 
bridge, he  selected  his  tutor,  William  Chap- 
pell,  and  then  strolled  out  to  see  the  town. 


41  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

At  that  time  tlie  population  of  Cambridge 
was  between  seven  and  eight  thousand.  The 
distinction  between  "town"  and  "gown"  had 
grown  up  long  prior  to  that  age,  and  while  the 
town  was  governed  by  a  mayor,  aldermen,  and 
a  common  council,  the  University  was  control- 
led by  its  own  statutes,  which  were  enforced  by 
the  collegiate  authorities.  The  University  was 
also  represented  in  Parliament  by  two  mem- 
bers returned  by  itself.* 

At  the  time  of  Milton's  matriculation,  Cam- 
bridge had  fallen  into  man}^  disorders  and 
deviations  from  the  old  academic  discipline, 
ecclesiastical  and  other,  arising  on  the  one 
hand  from  the  invasion  of  Puritan  opinions, 
which  prevailed  to  an  extent  which  alarmed 
the  zealous  churchmen  resident  there,  and  on 
the  other  hand  from  "debauched  and  atheisti- 
cal" principles,  and  that  "nicknaming  and 
scoffing  at  religion  and  the  power  of  godliness," 
which  serious  men  thought  "strange  in  a  Uni- 
versity of  the  reformed  church." 

Indeed  the  selfsame  conflict  between  rot- 
ten formalism  and  scoffing  infidelity  on  one 

*  Masson's  Life  of  Milton,  p.  79. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  45 

side,  and  earnest,  living,  and  sincere  devotion 
on  the  other,  which  ere  long  lighted  the  flames 
of  civil  war  throughout  Great  Britain,  seems 
to  have  already  commenced  at  the  University 
when  Milton  entered  it.  In  Christ  College  the 
order  was  ver}^  good.  Its  heads  and  seniors 
were  puritanically  inclined,  and  they  imparted 
to  the  undergraduates  something  of  their  own 
zeal  and  piety.  Still  it  is  very  certain  that 
Milton  always  entertained  a  poor  opinion  of 
the  University  curriculum,  or  course  of  study. 
He  was  at  the  very  outset  disgusted  by  the 
superficial  educational  system,  and  the  babel 
of  controversy.  In  speaking,  long  afterwards, 
of  boys  who  went  up  to  the  colleges  for  educa- 
tion, he  says,  "Their  honest  and  ingenuous 
natures  coming  to  the  University  to  feed  them- 
selves with  good  and  solid  learning,  are  there 
unfortunately  fed  with  nothing  else  but  the 
scragged  and  thoru}^  lectures  of  monkish  and 
miserable  sophistry.  They  are  sent  home 
again  with  such  a  scholastic  bur  in  their  throats 
as  hath  stopped  and  hindered  all  true  and  gen- 
erous philosophy  from  entering,  cracked  their 
voices  for  ever  with  metaphysical  gargarisms; 


46  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

bath  made  them  admire  a  sort  of  formal,  out- 
side men,  prelatically  addicted,  whose  unchas- 
tened  and  overwrought  minds  were  never  yet 
initiated,  nor  subdued  under  the  law  of  UKJial 
or  religious  virtue,  which  two  are  the  greatest 
and  best  points  of  learning ;  but  either  slightly 
trained  up  in  a  sort  of  hypocritical  and  hack- 
ney course  of  literature  to  get  their  living  by, 
or  else  fondly  overstudied  in  useless  controver- 
sies, except  those  which  they  use  with  all  the 
specious  subtlety  they  arc  able,  to  defend  their 
prelatical  Sparta." 

In  a  letter  to  his  old  friend  and  tutor 
Alexander  Gill,  he  speaks  again  of  the  super- 
ficial and  smattering  course  of  learning  pursued 
at  the  University,  and  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  clergy  engaged  with  raw  and  untutored 
judgments  in  the  explanation  of  theological 
tenets,  patching  together  a  sermon  with  pilfer- 
ed scraps,  without  any  acquaintance  with 
criticism  or  philosophy. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  with  these 
views  Milton's  tarry  at  Cambridge  was  not 
invariably  })leasant  and  agreeable.  Himself, 
though  but  a  boy  in  years — he  was  then  but 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  47 

two  months  turned  of  sixteen — marvellously 
and  accurately  learned,  familiar  with  the 
French,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  Hebrew  tongues, 
he  saw  easily  beneath  the  pompous  surface- 
knowledge  of  the  college  "Dons."  In  familiar- 
ity with  the  current  English  literature  of  the 
day,  and  with  those  authors  who  preceded 
him,  the  fossil  professors  were  infinitely  be- 
hind their  strange  and  intractable  pupil. 

In  the  beginning,  when  they  perceived  his 
evident  contempt  for  their  time-honored  and 
inflexible  methods,  they  treated  him  harshly, 
as  a  presumptuous  and  conceited  upstart.  But 
in  the  end  they  learned  to  appreciate  and  ad- 
mire his  genius.  Milton  was  always  frank  and 
free  in  the  expression  of  his  opinions,  and  as 
he  bruited  his  educational  notions  abroad,  the 
university  authorities  set  themselves  to  crush 
the  heresy.  He  was,  in  consequence,  beset  at 
this  time  by  many  vexations.  Among  other 
troubles  was  his  famous  quarrel  with  his  tutor, 
William  Chappell. 

Dr.  Johnson,  a  Tory  and  a  high-church- 
man, and  therefore  naturally  inimical  to  Mil- 
ton's opinions,  in  his  life  of  the  poet,  is  fre- 


48  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

quently  biased  bj'  his  prejiuliccs.  This  pre- 
vents that  fairness  of  statement  and  charity 
of  judgment  which  are  so  becoming  in  a  biog- 
rapher. Misled  by  this  infirmity,  he  often  seeks 
occasion  for  fault-finding  where  in  reality  none 
exists.  Of  this  nature  is  his  charge  that  Mil- 
ton obtained  no  fellowship  in  the  university, 
and  that  he  was  publicly  flogged  while  there 
for  infractions  of  discipline.  This  assertion, 
though  it  has  never  created  much  wonder,  has 
stirred  more  recent  biographers  to  a  careful 
investigation  of  the  facts.  The  result  of  these 
inquiries  has  gone  to  show  that  there  was  no 
truth  whatever  in  the  charge  of  public  flog- 
ging, the  rumor  of  which  Milton  himself  ear- 
nestl}^  denied  but  a  few  years  after  he  quitted 
the  University,  when  the  facts  must  have  been 
known  to  many  persons,  and  when,  surrounded 
as  he  then  was  by  enemies,  if  such  an  allega- 
tion could  have  been  made  good,  the  ready 
pens  of  a  score  of  adversaries  would  have 
attested  it.  Yet  his  denial  was  never  ques- 
tioned in  his  age,  but  it  was  reserved  for  the 
pen  of  Dr.  Johnson  to  revive  the  exploded 
slander,  and  to  insult  tlie  memory  of  John 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  49 

Milton  b}-^  the  expression  of  an  affected  con- 
cern at  its  trnth. 

There  is,  however,  no  question  that  Milton 
had  some  difficulty  with  William  Chappell,  and 
that  in  consequence  he  changed  his  tutor. 

His  life  in  those  days,  while  under  the 
frown  of  the  college  authorities,  was  probably 
far  from  pleasant.  He  found  consolation  how- 
ever in  his  literary  pursuits,  and  in  his  cor- 
respondence. He  addressed  at  this  period 
several  letters  to  Alexander  Gill ;  to  his  old 
preceptor  Thomas  Young  at  Hamburg,  in  one 
of  which  he  bewailed  that  worthy's  exile,  and 
predicted  his  speedy  return,  since  the  days 
were  coming  when  England  would  need  all 
such  sons  ;  and  to  Charles  Deodati. 

Deodati  had  been  Milton's  most  intimate 
friend  at  St.  Paul's  school.  The  familj^  was 
of  Italian  extraction,  and  had  originally  come 
from  Lucca  on  account  of  its  Protestant  princi- 
ples. Of  two  brothers  born  in  G-eneva,  Gio- 
vanni, the  3^ounger,  remained  there,  where  he 
rose  to  be  professor  in  the  Universit}^  of  Ge- 
neva, and  became  an  eminent  theologian  of  the 
Reformation.     The  other  brother,  Theodore, 


60  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

came  over  to  England  in  early  life,  adopted 
the  medical  profession,  and  attained  considera- 
ble reputation  ;  so  that  in  1609  he  had  a  house  in 
Brentford,  and  was  physician  to  Henry,  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  Elizabeth,  afterwards  Queen  of 
Bohemia.  Charles,  Milton's  friend,  was  born 
about  the  year  1608,  and  was  therefore  near 
the  same  age  as  his  p;reat  playfellow. 

Young  D^odati  was  a  bo}'  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary ability,  and  in  earnest  devotion  to  study 
and  purity  of  life,  was  a  proper  mate  for  Mil- 
ton. He  went  to  Oxford  in  1621-2  ;  but  thdr 
old  intimacy  was  still  kept  up.  Milton's  let- 
ters to  this  valued  friend,  usually  written  in 
the  Latin  or  Italian  languages,  and  dated  from 
Cambridge,  are  ver}'  beautiful.  They  relate 
his  studies,  his  accomplishments,  his  feelings, 
his  amusements,  giving  an  inside  view  of  the 
man.  They  show  him  to  have  excelled  as 
much  in  the  amiable  virtues  as  he  did  in  the 
controversial  and  rhetorical  ones. 

It  was  during  Milton's  first  j'ear  at  Cam- 
bridge that  the  plague  made  its  appearance, 
the  tradition  of  whose  horrors  still  lingers  in 
English  history.     This  scourge  stalked  through 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  51 

the  island,  decimating  the  population  of  the 
larger  towns.  It  carried  off  over  thirtj'-five 
thousand  people  in  London,  where  it  first  rev- 
elled in  its  ghastly  carnival.  The  pestilence 
did  not  break  out  in  Cambridge,  but  it  raged  in 
many  of  the  surrounding  viUages,  and  caused 
such  a  panic  at  the  Universitj^  as  served  to 
disturb  the  ordinary  quiet  routine,  and  send 
many  of  the  collegians  home.  Milton  passed 
the  time  with  his  family. 

In  this  same  year,  1625,  king  James  died, 
not  much  regretted  by  any  part}^,  and  was 
succeeded  by  Charles  Stuart,  then  in  his  twen- 
ty-tifth  year.  The  death  of  the  old  and  the 
succession  of  the  new  king  caused  considerable 
commotion  at  the  Universit}^  It  was  difficult 
for  the  "Dons"  and  scholars,  accustomed  as 
they  had  long  been  to  the  formula  ''  Jacohwn 
Regwn^^  in  their  prayers  and  graces  at  meat, 
to  bring  their  mouths  all  at  once  round  to 
"  Carolum  Regum^^  instead.  Meade,  one  of 
Milton's  fellow-students,  tells  of  one  poor  bach- 
elor who  was  so  bent  on  remembering  that 
"  t7aco5z<s "  had  gone  out  and  '' Carolus'^  had 
come  in,  that  when,  in  publicly  reading  the 


52  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Psalms,  lie  came  to  llie  phrase,  ''  Deus  Jacohi,'^ 
God  of  Jacob,  he  altered  it  before  he  was 
aware  into  "  Be^is  Caroli,^^  God  of  Charles, 
and  then  stood  horror-struck  at  his  mistake. 

Public  affairs  were  at  this  period  very 
disordered.  England  was  at  war  with  France, 
and  while  disaster  followed  the  national  arms 
abroad,  dissension  reigned  at  home.  An  ex- 
pensive expedition  sent  under  Buckingham  to 
the  assistance  of  the  city  of  Rochelle,  the 
strong-hold  of  the  French  Calvinists,  then 
closel}'  besieged  by  Richelieu,  had  proved  a 
total  failure ;  and  a  second  expedition,  a 
twelvemonth  later,  proved  equally  unsuccess- 
ful, when  led  by  Lord  Denbigh.  Such  was 
the  gloomy  foreign  aspect  of  affuirs. 

The  domestic  situation  was  still  more 
threatening.  Parliament,  which  had  been 
prorogued  in  the  preceding  reign  by  the  angry 
James,  on  account  of  its  decided  stand  in  de- 
fence of  the  popular  rights,  and  its  opposition 
to  the  arbitrary  requisitions  of  the  crown, 
met  again  in  January,  1C28-9,  and  at  once 
"fell  upon  their  grievances."  These  were  of 
two  classes :  the  tonnage  and  poundage  ques- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  63 

tion,  which  embraced  the  right  of  the  king  to 
raise  money  without  the  consent  of  Parlia- 
ment; and  the  question  of  the  religious  con- 
dition of  the  state,  as  connected  with  the 
spread  of  Popish  doctrines,  and  with  the  pro- 
motion of  men  holding;  to  those  tenets  to  hio;h 
positions  in  the  church  and  state.  In  order 
more  thoroughly  to  consider  this  last  great 
subject,  the  House  of  Commons  resolved  itself 
into  a  "  Committee  of  Religion." 

"It  was  in  this  Committee  of  Religion," 
says  Carljie,'^  "on  the  11th  day  of  February, 
1628-9,  that  Mr.  Cromwell,  member  for  Hunt- 
ingdon, then  in  his  thirtieth  year,  stood  up 
and  made  his  first  speech,  a  fragment  of  which 
has  found  its  way  into  history,  and  is  now 
known  to  all  the  world.  He  said  '  he  had 
heard  by  relation  from  one  Dr.  Beard,  his  old 
schoolmaster  at  Huntingdon,  that  Dr.  Alablas- 
ter,  prebendary  of  St.  Paul's  and  rector  of  a 
parish  in  Herts,  had  preached  flat  Popery  at 
Paul's  Cross ;  and  that  the  Bishop  of  Winches- 
ter, Dr.  Neile,  had  commanded  him,  as  his 

*  Carlyle's  Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  3cl  edit., 
pp.  1-92. 


5i  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

diocesan,  he  sliould  preach  nothing  to  the 
contrary.  Mainwaring,  so  justly  censured  in 
this  House  for  his  sermons,  was  b}"  the  same 
bishop's  means  preferred  to  a  rich  living.  If 
these  are  the  steps  to  church  preferment,  what 
are  we  to  expect  V  " 

Cromwell's  facts  on  this  occasion  were  but 
two  out  of  many  similar  ones  brought  to  the 
attention  of  the  House  of  Commons.  A  new 
remonstrance  to  the  king  was  also  drawn  up, 
couched  in  bolder  language  than  any  which 
had  preceded  it. 

Charles,  alarmed  and  provoked  at  the  Par- 
liament, instantly  dissolved  it.  Before  the 
final  adjournment  however,  the  Remonstrance 
was  ordered  to  be  put  to  vote.  This  the 
Speaker,  Finch,  refused  to  do.  Denzil  Holies 
and  other  members  locked  the  doors,  held 
Finch  in  his  seat,  and  hastily  passed  three  res- 
olutions to  the  effect  that  whosoever  should 
encourage  Popery,  or  should  advise  the  levy- 
ings  of  tonnage  or  poundage  by  the  king  on 
his  own  authority,  or  should  pay  the  same  so 
levied,  should  be  held  an  enemy  to  religion 
and  the  state  of  England. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  55 

The  result  of  this  bold  movement  was  the 
indictment  of  Denzil  Holies  and  his  comrades 
b}^  the  famous  Star  Chamber  court/^  and  their 
committal  to  the  tower.  Thus  ended  the  Par- 
liament of  1628-9.  It  was  the  last  held  in 
England  for  over  eleven  years,  and  it  was 
made  a  penal  offence  even  to  speak  of  the  as- 
sembling of  another. 

While  the  Revolution  was  thus  hastening 
forward  with  rapid  strides,  Milton  was  immers- 
ed in  hard  and  recluse  stud}^,  reserving  him- 
self for  a  higher  hour.  Of  course  he  must 
have  shared  in  the  interest  which  these  events 
excited;  but  as  the  year  1628-9  was  the  one 
in  which  his  undergraduateship  closed  and  he 

*  The  Court  of  Star  Chamber,  the  most  infamous  in  Enghsh 
history,  derived  its  name  from  the  room  in  which  it  sat,  which  was 
fi'escoed  \vith  stars.  It  was  the  okl  council  chamber  of  the  ancient 
palace  of  Westminster.  The  court  was  very  ancient,  but  was  new- 
modelled  by  Henry  VIE.  and  Heurj^  VIII.,  when  more  obnoxious 
and  arbitrary  powers  were  confeiTed  upon  it.  It  consisted  of 
divers  lords,  spu'itual  and  temporal,  being  privj'  counsellors,  to- 
gether with  two  judges  of  the  courts  of  common  law,  without  the 
intervention  of  any  jury.  It  was  used  as  the  engine  of  oppression 
for  a  long  series  of  years,  and  thus  earned  the  fear  and  dislilie  of 
the  whole  nation.  Its  stretches  of  despotic  power,  so  aUen  to  the 
spirit  of  the  British  Constitution,  at  length  awoke  such  opposition 
that  the  clamors  of  the  people,  finding  voice  through  Parhament, 
finally  compelled  its  abolition  by  statute,  in  the  sixteenth  j'ear  of 
the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  to  the  gi'eat  joy  of  the  whole  nation.  En- 
cyclopedia Britannica,  eighth  edition,  Vol.  XX. ,  p.  537. 


56  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

gained  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  he  could 
not  have  devoted  much  time,  had  he  so  desired, 
to  the  consideration  of  public  affairs. 

Milton  graduated  very  brilliantly ;  he  had 
gradually  pushed  his  way  into  the  respect  and 
admiration  of  the  whole  University,  and  was 
at  this  time  regarded  as  one  of  its  brightest 
ornaments.  The  old  grudge  had  completely 
vanished,  and  professors  and  students  united 
in  doing  homage  to  his  religious  principle  and 
splendid  genius. 

Malicious  critics  have  made  vague  charges 
that  Milton  was  addicted  while  an  undergrad- 
uate to  fast  company  and  high  living.  The 
whole  tenor  of  his  life  and  writings,  together 
with  his  own  published  and  spirited  denial  at 
the  time,  unite  to  prove  the  unspotted  inno- 
cence of  his  3'outh.  And  indeed  these  rumors 
never  won  much  credence,  except,  as  in  the 
case  of  Dr.  Johnson,  when  the  wish  was  father 
to  the  thought.  At  all  events  it  is  very  cer- 
tain that  the  whole  bod}^  of  his  biographers 
with  singular  agreement  have  unanimously 
branded  them  as  slanderous  fables. 

But  this  shows  that  even  the  greatest  and 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  57 

best  of  men,  though  their  lives  be  as  pnre  as 
the  driven  snow,  cannot  hope  to  escape  vitupe- 
ration and  calumny.  Our  Saviour  himself  was 
accused  of  being  the  companion  of  gluttons  and 
wine-bibbers. 

The  course  of  study  at  Cambridge  em- 
braced seven  years ;  the  first  four  being  the 
period  of  undergraduateship,  the  last  three 
terminating  with  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts. 
Milton,  as  has  been  mentioned,  had  just  com- 
pleted the  first  period,  terminating  with  the 
degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts.  He  had  there- 
fore three  3^ears  more  to  remain  at  the  Uni- 
versity. Throughout  this  entire  period  Milton 
was  treated  with  unusual  respect,  and  his  great 
powers  were  fullj^  recognized.  But  his  pres- 
ent popularity  did  not  turn  his  head  any  more 
than  his  prior  unpopularity  had  dismayed  him. 
Earnest  and  self-centred,  he  moved  towards 
his  goal  unaffected  to  a  remarkable  degree  by' 
the  opinion  of  his  fellows,  so  that  his  own  con- 
science said  "Amen"  to  his  actions.  He  con- 
tinued to  "  hive  fresh  wisdom  with  each  studi- 
ous year,"  and  so  grew  to  rival  the  qualities  of 
the  admirable   Crichton  of  historic  tradition. 

3* 


58  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

He  did  not  give  any  extraordinary  evidence 
during  his  universit}^  life  of  his  splendid  poet- 
ical talents.  Still,  a  number  of  his  mjnor 
poems  belong  to  this  period,  and  especially 
his  ver}^  beautiful  lines  entitled,  "On  a  Fair 
Infant  Dying  of  a  Cough,"  composed  on  the 
death  of  a  daughter  of  his  sister  Anne,  who 
had  married  a  IMr.  Philips — which  are  as 
undying  as  the  English  language.  It  was, 
however,  as  a  profound,  elegant  scholar  and 
young  man  of  rare  purity  and  promise,  that 
he  was  at  this  time  most  famed. 

Having  completed  his  full  course,  Milton 
finally  quitted  Cambridge  in  July,  1632,  he 
being  then  in  his  twenty- fourth  year,  ripe  in 
wisdom  and  in  honors. 

In  his  personal  appearance,  Milton  was  at 
this  time  singularl}'  prepossessing.  He  had 
acquired  in  college  the  nickname  of  "the 
lady,"  on  account  of  his  delicate  complexion, 
his  hair  flowing  to  his  ruff  on  both  sides  of  his 
oval  face,  and  his  slender  and  elegant,  rather 
than  massive  or  powerful  form.  But  there 
was  nothing  effeminate  in  his  demeanor.  He 
had  long  auburn  hair,  beautiful  and  curling, 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  59 

an  exceedingly  fair  complexion,  an  oval  face, 
and  dark  gre}^  eyes.  His  deportment  was 
affable,  his  gait  erect  and  manly,  bespeaking 
courage  and  undauntedness.  Milton  himself 
tells  us  that  in  his  youth  he  did  not  neglect 
"daily  practice"  with  his  sword,  and  that  he 
was  not  so  very  slight,  though  he  was  lithe 
and  a  trifle  below  the  middle  height ;  but  that 
"armed  with  it,  as  he  generally  was,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  thinking  himself  quite  a  match 
for  any  one,  even  were  he  much  the  most 
robust,  and  of  being  perfectly  at  his  ease  as  to 
any  injury  that  any  one  could  offer  him,  man 
to  man." 

Such  was  John  Milton  when,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four,  he  left  his  little  college  world  to 
step  out  into  that  broader  and  grander  arena 
in  which  Grod  meant  him  to  play  so  prominent 
and  useful  a  part. 


60  THE   LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER   IV. 

.  Milton,  upon  leaving  Cambridge,  repaired 
at  once  to  bis  father's  house,  now  however  no 
longer  in  Bread-street,  but  at  a  villa  which  his 
father  had  taken  at  some  distance  from  the 
bustling  metropolis.  "At  my  father's  country 
residence,"  he  himself  informs  us,  "  whither  he 
liad  retired  to  pass  his  old  age,  I,  with  every 
advantage  of  leisure,  spent  a  complete  holiday 
in  turning  over  the  Greek  and  Latin  authors ; 
not  but  that  sometimes  I  exchanged  the  coun- 
try for  the  town,  either  for  the  purpose  of 
buying  books,  or  for  that  of  learning  something 
new  in  mathematics  or  in  music,  in  which 
sciences  I  then  delighted." 

The  new  residence  of  the  scrivener  Milton 
was  situated  in  the  hamlet  of  Horton,  near 
Colnbrook,  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  was  but 
about  seventeen  miles  from  London,  within 
easy  distance  for  3'oung  Milton's  occasional 
trips  to  town.  The  little  village,  containing  at 
that  time  but  few  families,  was  quiet  and  very 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  Gl 

beautiful — one  of  those  sweet  old  English  towns 
in  which  we  desire  to  lie  down  and  dream — 
precisely  the  nook  for  a  speculative  thinker  or 
a  poet.  It  was  scatteringly  built,  the  houses 
playing  at  hide-and-seek  among  the  trees 
and  intervening  foliage,  with  no  continuous 
streets,  but  only  a  great  tree  in  the  centre  of 
an  open  space  where  three  roads  met  and  sug- 
gested that  there  might  be  more  habitations 
about  the  spot  than  at  first  appeared,  which 
suggestion  was  confirmed  on  looking  down  one 
of  the  roads,  by  the  sight  of  an  old  church- 
tower,  ivy  covered,  and  with  a  cemetery  in 
front,  which  you  entered  between  two  extreme- 
ly old  yew-trees.  Here  it  was  that  Milton, 
together  with  other  members  of  his  family, 
worshipped  regularly  for  five  years,  or  during 
his  residence  in  the  hamlet. 

One  could  lie  under  the  elm-trees  in  the 
lawn,  saunter  through  the  green  meadows  by 
the  rippling  streamlet,  from  a  rustic  bridge 
watch  the  lazy  mill-wheel,  or  walk  along  quiet 
roads  well  hedged,  deviate  into  by-paths  lead- 
ing past  farm-yards  and  orchards,  or  through 
rich  pastures  where  horses,  cows,  and  sheep 


62  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

were  wont  to  graze — an  elysium  indeed  for  the 
weary  Londoner,  a  'paradise  regained'  for  the 
younger  Milton. 

Milton  had  been  designed  both  by  his  fa- 
ther and  his  own  wish  for  the  church,  when  he 
went  to  Cambridge ;  but  long  before  he  acquir- 
ed his  degree  he  had  abandoned  the  intention. 
This  resolution  was  owing  to  his  conscientious 
scruples  against  signing  the  Articles,  and  en- 
dorsing the  doctrine  and  discipline  of  the 
English  church.  "The  church,"  he  says,  "to 
whose  service,  by  the  intentions  of  ni}^  parents 
and  friends,  I  was  destined  of  a  child,  and  in 
my  own  resolutions  till,  coming  to  some 
maturity  of  3'ears,  and  perceiving  what  tyran- 
n}'  had  invaded  in  the  church — that  he  who 
would  take  orders  must  subscribe  slave,  and 
take  an  oath  withal,  which,  unless  he  took  with 
a  conscience  that  would  retch,  he  must  either 
perjure  or  split  his  faith — I  thought  it  better  to 
prefer  a  blameless  silence  before  the  sacred 
office  of  speaking,  bought  and  begun  with  ser- 
vitude and  forswearing."* 

In  order  to  account  for  this  reluctance  on 

•  Keason  of  Church  Government,  (1641.)  Works,  HI.  p.  150. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  G3 

the  part  of  Milton  to  take  the  oaths  required  of 
candidates  for  holy  orders  in  the  English  church, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  give  a  synopsis  of  Brit- 
ish ecclesiasticism  at  that  period,  in  and  about 
the  year  1632. 

The  population  of  England  in  1632  was 
something  under  five  millions,  and  this  whole 
mass  was  then  considered,  legally  at  least,  to 
belong  to  the  English  church.  Of  course  the 
exceptions  in  fact  were  multitudinous.  There 
were  in  the  early  years  of  king  Charles'  reign 
two  parties  which  stood  boldly  out  from  the 
state  creed,  both  existing  under  the  ban  and  at 
the  peril  of  the  law,  but  both  having  extensive 
ramifications  inside  the  church,  where  each  had 
numerous  sympathizers.  These  were  the  Ro- 
man-catholics, or  as  they  were  then  popularly 
called  the  Papists,  and  the  Separatists  or  Dis- 
senters. The  Catholics  were  powerful  and 
dangerous,  always  active,  always  scheming. 
Their  party  embraced  numbers  of  the  very 
highest  nobility,  and  was  strongly  suspected  of 
having  the  secret  sympathy  of  many  of  the 
bishops  of  the  English  church.  Reference  has 
been  made  in  a  preceding  chapter  to  a  debate 


64  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ill  the  Plouse  of  Commons  concerning  the  ten- 
dency of  the  English  ecclesiastical  polit}^  tow- 
ards Eomanism,  in  which  Cromwell  stuttered 
and  stamped  his  maiden  speech,  and  inquired 
whither  they  were  tending.  It  is  very  certain 
that  numerous  gentlemen  of  property  and  dis- 
tinction, together  with  some  churchmen,  rep- 
resented the  Catholic  interest  in  different 
English  counties,  and  in  the  church  itself.* 

The  Dissenters  were  but  a  handful,  numer- 
ically, and  consisted  of  those  ultra  Puritans 
who  had  considered  themselves  bound,  wheth- 
er on  doctrinal  or  ritual  grounds,  to  separate 
from  the  English  church,  and  set  up  an  altar 
of  their  own.  The  majority  of  those  whose 
Puritanism  led  them  thus  ftir,  had  before  this 
emigrated  to  Holland,  or  to  America,  where 
they  raised  their  psalms  of  thanksgiving  on 
bleak  and  unknown  headlands,  amid  cold  and 
hunger,  with  the  inijiiical  Indian  prowling  upon 
one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  eternal  sea  line 
which  severed  them  from  dear  cruel  England, 
and  the  long,  low,  monotonous  plash  of  the 
sullen  waves.     But  some  remained  at  home, 

*  Dod's  Church  History,  time  of  Chai-les  First. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  05 

getting  covert  aid  and  comfort  from  their  less 
radical  brethren  within  the  church. 

Behind  these  two  parties  stood  the  majority 
of  the  people,  swaj^ed  one  way  or  the  other 
according  to  their  sympathies,  but  not  yet  pre- 
pared to  ostracize  themselves  by  becoming 
"come-outers."  The  great  body  of  the  Puri- 
tans were  still  within  the  church,  and  the  quar- 
rel was,  whether  the  church  should  be  made 
to  lean  towards  Puritanism,  or  towards  that 
high-churchism  which,  it  was  contended,  ended 
logically  if  not  inevitably,  in  adhesion  to  Rome. 
Every  new  ecclesiastical  measure  therefore, 
and  every  new  bishop,  was  closely  scrutinized 
as  to  its  or  his  leaning  towards  one  or  the 
other  of  these  two  sides. 

Unfortunately  for  the  unity  of  the  English 
church,  it  happened  that  its  most  influential 
members  and  its  ruling  bishops  leaned  decid- 
edly, and  many  of  them  fiercely,  towards  the 
prelatical  or  high-church  theory.  Of  course 
they  scouted  the  idea  of  conceding  any  thing 
to  the  Puritans,  and  in  this  they  were  openly 
supported  by  the  king.  Yet  still  unsatisfied, 
and  encouraged   by  the   royal  sanction,   the 


G6  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

liicrarcliical  clergy  rallied  their  whole  strength, 
and  after  a  bitter  contest,  succeeded  ia  foist- 
ing into  the  canonical  law  one  hundred  and 
forty-one  new  canons  intensely  hostile  to  the 
Puritan  tenets  even  going  so  far  as  to  excom- 
municate all  who  refused  conformity  with  the 
most  minute  and  unessential  forms  of  the  ritual. 

The  result  was  decisive.  Instantly  a  hun- 
dred platforms  echoed  with  arguments  for  sep- 
aration, while  a  score  of  vigorous  presses  were 
kept  busy  day  and  night  in  the  publication  of 
Puritan  pamphlets,  numbers  of  which  were 
also  imported  from  Holland.  Then  began  a 
persecution  as  remorseless  as  it  was  searching. 

The  soul  of  the  new  crusade  was  the  fa- 
mous Archbishop  Laud,  who  was  born  at  Read- 
ing, in  Berkshire,  England.*  He  had  been 
educated  at  Oxford,  and  in  religion  "was  a 
little  over  the  frontier  of  the  church  of  Eng- 
land, on  that  side  from  which  the  Vatican  was 
visible."  The  legislative  chief  of  the  high- 
church  party,  he  pushed  affairs  to  an  extremi- 
ty. Narrow  and  arbitrary  in  his  disposition, 
he  introduced  the  most   bigoted  innovations 

•  Laud's  Diary,  p.  1. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  67 

into  British  ecclesiasticism.  Detestable  on  ac- 
count of  his  intolerance,  he  was  doubl}^  deserv- 
ing of  the  scorn  of  all  generous  souls  on  ac- 
count of  his  brutal  cruelty.  He  stirred  the 
Star  Chamber  court  to  displace  obnoxious 
bishops;  he  also  pushed  inferior  delinquents 
to  the  wall.  There  were,  accordingly,  a  series 
of  prosecutions  from  1628  to  1632,  which  are 
recited  by  the  historians  of  his  religious  ty- 
ranny, and  which  have  covered  his  name  with 
eternal  infamy.  Among  the  most  horrible  of 
these  cases  was  that  of  Dr.  Alexander  Leigh- 
ton,  father  of  the  famous  Archbishop  Leighton, 
a  clergyman  of  earnest  piety  and  decided  tal- 
ent, who  held  a  preachership  in  Laud's  diocese 
of  London.  Dr.  Leighton  had  written  and 
published  in  1628  a  book  entitled,  "Zion's  Plea 
against  Prelacy,"  which  was  fairly,  though 
strongly  written.  For  this  he  was  indicted  in 
1630,  sentenced,  degraded  from  his  hol}^  or- 
ders, and  cast  into  prison,  from  which  he 
escaped  through  the  connivance  of  his  war- 
dens. Instantly  a  hue  and  cry  was  raised 
after  him,  printed  handbills  were  posted  in 
conspicuous  places  as  for  a  malefactor,  describ- 


b*8  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ing  him  as  "a  man  of  low  stature,  fair  com- 
plexion, a  yellowish  beard,  a  high  forehead; 
between  forty  and  fift}^  years  of  age."  Being 
taken  in  Bedfordshire,  he  was  brought  back 
to  London,  and  part  of  his  sentence  was  exe- 
cuted on  him  in  this  manner,  in  the  palace  of 
Westminster:  he  was  severely  whipped  be- 
fore being  placed  in  the  pillory,  after  which 
he  had  one  of  his  ears  cut  off;  then  one  side 
of  his  nose  was  slit;  then  he  was  branded  on 
the  cheek  with  a  redhot  iron,  with  the  letters 
S.  S.,  signifying  a  Stirrer  up  of  Sedition.  Af- 
ter this  torture  he  was  carried  back  to  the 
Fleet  prison,  where  he  was  kept  in  close  cus- 
tody. Precisely  one  week  afterwards,  his 
wounds  upon  the  back,  nose,  and  ears  being 
yet  unclosed,  he  was  whipped  again  at  the 
pillory  in  Cheapside,  and  there  had  the  re- 
mainder of  his  sentence  executed  upon  him  by 
cutting  off  the  remaining  ear,  slitting  the  other 
side  of  the  nose,  and  branding  the  other  cheek. 
'Thus  horribly  disfigured,  he  was  remanded  to 
prison,  where  he  la}^  for  ten  j'cars.  And  all 
this  accumulation  of  refined  torture,  which  re- 
minds one  of  the  palmy  da3's  of  the  Inquisi- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  60 

tion  in  Spain  or  Italy,  on  account  of  the  publi- 
cation of  an  obnoxious  Puritan  pamphlet. 

The  generous  soul  of  Milton,  sickened  b}^ 
the  atrocity  of  this  and  similar  acts,  v/as  moved 
to  its  profoundest  depths,  and  as  we  have  seen, 
he  turned  with  loathing  from  the  service  of  a 
church  which  had  so  far  forgotten  its  Protes- 
tantism as  to  dig  up  from  its  grave  of  two  hun- 
dred 3'ears  the  horrors  of  the  Inquisition,  and 
which  with  one  hand  shackled  the  press,  while 
with  the  other  it  gagged  the  lips  of  free  in- 
quiry. He  was  not  willing  "to  subscribe  him- 
self slave,"  by  stifling  his  honest  Puritan  con- 
victions in  order  to  enter  upon  an  ecclesiasti- 
cal career. 

Cut  off  thus  from  his  chosen  avenue  of  use- 
fulness, he  finally,  though  not  without  anxious 
and  prayerful  meditation,  determined  to  de- 
vote himself  to  a  life  of  continued  study,  with 
the  secret  purpose  of  doing  his  utmost  to  ele- 
vate and  enrich  the  literature  of  his  time. 
From  some  random  remarks  of  his,  it  has  been 
conjectured  that  he  had  thoughts  of  studying 
the  law.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  certain 
that  he  took  no  steps  towards  the  mastery  of 


70  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

that  science,  leaving  it  fo^  bis  brother  Chris- 
topher to  become  the  lawyer  of  tlie  family, 
which  posterity  has  never  regretted. 

Milton's  idea  of  his  mission  and  duty  as  a 
literar}'  man  was  high  and  noble.  He  ven- 
tured to  hope  that,  b}^  "hard  labor,"  which  he 
took  to  be  the  portion  of  his  life,  he  might  be 
the  instrument  of  some  good,  and  "perhaps 
leave  something  so  written  to  after-times  as 
they  should  not  willingly  let  it  die."  His 
chief  aim  was,  as  he  has  himself  said,  to  be 
"an  interpreter  and  relater  of  the  best  and 
sagest  things  among  my  own  citizens  through- 
out this  island,  in  the  mother  ^dialect;  that 
what  the  greatest  and  choicest  wits  of  xVthens, 
Rome,  or  modern  Italy,  and  those  Hebrews 
of  old  did  for  their  countr}^,  I,  in  my  propor- 
tion, with  this  advantage  of  being  a  Christian, 
might  do  for  mine." 

The  literature  of  that  age  stood  greatly  in 
need  of  pious  and  elevated  intellects.  English 
letters  were  never  more  brilliant  and  witty 
than  then ;  neither  were  they  ever  more  lax 
and  licentious.  It  was  the  era  of  loose  drama- 
tists and  drunken  wits,  of  infidel  satirists  and 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  71 

epigrammatic  sneerers.  The  scholarship  of 
the  French  Revolution  was  not  more  atheistic. 
Ben  Jonson,  the  poet  laureate  of  England  in 
1632,  was  a  haunter  of  taverns  and  a  wine 
bloat — stains  which  his  rare  genius  cannot 
eradicate.  Literature  was  taken  possession 
of  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  by  Webster 
and  Massenger;  and  though  Shakspeare  had 
already  written  himself  into  immortality,  and 
Spenser's  sweet  muse  had  sung,  their  efforts, 
however  admirable,  were  certainly  far  from 
being  tinctured  with  a  religious  spirit.  Indeed 
the  graceless  letters  of  the  time  sadly  needed 
the  Christian  leaven ;  and  that  was  precisely 
what  John  Milton  intended  to  supply — what 
he,  better  than  almost  any  other  man  who  has 
lived  before  or  since,  was  fitted  and  mentally 
equipped  to  do. 

Though  he  says  he  "  spent  a  complete  hol- 
iday in  turning  over  the  Greek  and  Latin 
writers"  while  at  Horton,  Milton's  intellectual 
labor  seems  to  have  been  really  exhaustive, 
embracing  a  "ceaseless  round  of  study  and 
reading."  His  pen  was  seldom  idle.  It  was 
during  the  first  two  and  a  half  years  of  his 


72  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

tariy  in  the  bamlet,  that  lie  composed  five  of 
his  finest  English  poems — the  "Sonnet  to  a 
Nightingale,"  "L'Allegro,"  "II  Penseroso," 
"Arcades,"  and  "  Comns."  The  first  was  a 
composition  in  the  "  Petrarchian  stanza,"  a 
species  of  verse  made  familiar  to  him  l)y  his 
readings  in  the  Italian  poets.  The  poem  is 
light,  airy,  and  very  graceful. 

Next  came  "L'Allegro"  and  "II  Pense- 
roso."  These  are  two  of  the  most  splendid 
short  poems  in  the  language.  The  diction  is 
exceedingl}^  rich  and  melodious,  while  man}^ 
of  the  ideas  are  quaintly  expressed.  They 
display  exquisite  feeling;  and  the  imaginative 
subtilt}^  and  musical  art  with  which  he  man- 
ages the  two  styles  of  verse- — ^"L'AlIegro" 
invoking  Mirth,  attended  by  Jest  and  Jollity ; 
"II  Penseroso,"  in  contrast,  bidding  Mirth 
begone,  and  invoking  the  divine  maid  Melan- 
chol}',  robed  in  pensive  black,  with  rapt, 
heaven-directed  ej^es — proves  Milton  to  have 
been  at  twent^'-five  one  of  the  most  skilful 
and  wonderful  of  poets. 

"  Arcades  "  and  "  Oomus  "  were  conceived 
in  a  different  vein,  being  masques,  a  species  of 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  73 

composition  now  obsolete,  but  somewhat  allied 
to  our  modern  drama.  "  Comiis"  is  a  magnifi- 
cent poem,  and  as  an  eulogium  upon  virtue, 
has  never  been  surpassed.  Milton  never 
afterwards  wrote  any  thing  more  perfect  and 
beautiful.  He  proved  against  all  contempo- 
rary masque  writers,  Ben  Jonson  and  the  rest, 
whose  similar  works  abound  in  vulgarity, 
what  the  pure  poetry  and  the  pure  morality 
of  a  masque  might  be.  "  Comus  "  also  shows 
that,  had  Milton  devoted  himself  to  the  drama, 
he  might  have  occupied  a  niche  next  to  Shak- 
speare  in  the  dramatic  temple. 

This  masque  was  originally  acted  at  Lud- 
low castle,  under  the  auspices  of  a  noble  fam- 
ily, for  whom  it  had  been  composed.  It  was 
afterwards  represented  several  times  in  Lon- 
don, being  received  with  distinguished  consid- 
eration. 

The  most  prominent  and  peculiar  trait  of 
Milton's  writings,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  is 
their  elevated  tone,  their  sublimity.  In  this 
respect  no  writer  has  equalled  him.  Others 
occasionally  soar  and  kiss  the  heavens;  he 
walks  upon  the  stars,  and  with  an  ease  and 


74  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

grace  which  proves  that  he  made  no  effort  to 
be  grand.  From  his  boyhood  he  had  revelled 
in  ideas  of  the  infinite  and  the  eternal — time, 
space,  immortality;  themes  "which  other  men 
seldom  touch,  save  apologetically  and  with 
awe,  were  his  intellectual  commonplaces.  This 
habit,  which  made  some  of  his  earlier  compo- 
sitions seem  magniloquent,  ripened  in  his  man- 
hood into  the  most  gorgeous  elevation  of  sen- 
timent. 

There  was  nothing  contracted  or  mean  in 
Milton's  soul ;  every  thing  was  high  and  noble. 
Even  his  faults  were  such  as  belong  to  grand 
temperaments.  Consequently  his  writings  all 
bear  the  impress  of  his  spirit,  to  which  the 
very  rhythm  of  his  sentences  corresponds. 

He  is  one  of  the  most  original  of  writers. 
Still,  like  Shakspeare,  he  did  not  disdain  to 
borrow  and  adopt  any  isolated  phrase  or 
expression  that  pleased  him.  Many  of  his 
phrases  may  be  found  scattered  through  the 
pages  of  preceding  or  contemporary  authors ; 
but  he  only  had  the  power  to  collect  and 
remould  them  into  one  grand  and  elevated 
whole.      Spencer,    Fletcher,    Beaumont.    Ben 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  75 

Jonson,  Sylvester — lie  levied  upon  them  all, 
and  that  too  without  ceasing  to  be  original; 
for  though  many  of  these  writers  abounded  in 
noble  passages,  Milton's  genius  was  of  a  haugh- 
tier character,  his  sublimity  was  higher  and 
more  unapproachable. 

Though  this  elevation  is  Milton's  peculiar 
and  distinctive  quality,  it  is  not  his  onty 
beauty.  He  is  the  full  equal  of  others  in  those 
other  characteristics  which  go  to  make  up  a 
great  writer.  In  fitness  of  epithet,  in  spright- 
liness  of  wit,  in  splendor  of  imagination,  in  a 
certain  dainty  quaintness  of  expression,  he  has 
no  master.  To  sum  up  all,  he  is  a  marvel  and 
a  model  in  English  literature. 

In  1637  Milton's  dearly  beloved  and  excel- 
lent mother  died,  ripe  in  years  and  in  virtues, 
and  happ3^  in  the  knowledge  that  she  left  her 
children,  all  of  whom  were  with  her  upon  the 
solemn  occasion  of  her  death — Anne  the  mar- 
ried daugliter,  Christopher,  then  a  law  student 
at  the  Inner  Temple,  London,  and  John — in 
the  promise  of  useful  and  Christian  lives.  This 
blow  was  a  sad  one  to  the  Milton  family,  each 
member  of  which  felt  it  keenly. 


76  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Milton  liad  scarcely  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  his  mother's  death,  when  he  learned 
of  the  accidental  drowning  of  one  of  his  old 
college  friends,  Edward  King,  a  young  man  of 
piety  and  erudition,  while  on  a  vo3'age  to  Ire- 
land on  a  visit  home.  It  was  upon  this  occa- 
sion that  he  composed  his  weird  monody  called 
'^  LyddasT 

Worn  by  grief  and  study,  and  desirous  to 
see  something  of  foreign  countries,  Milton  now 
determined  to  go  abroad.  Accordingly,  after 
procuring  his  father's  somewhat  unwilling  con- 
sent, and  leaving  his  country  in  a  still  more 
unsettled  and  threatening  condition  than  ever, 
in  April,  1638,  he  bade  England  and  his  friends 
adieu  for  a  time,  and  crossed  the  channel  into 
France. 

Milton  did  not  leave  his  father,  aged  and  a 
widower,  alone  at  Horton  during  his  absence. 
His  brother  Christopher,  then  about  to  be 
called  to  the  bar,  married  the  daughter  of  a 
London  citizen  in  the  April  of  Milton's  depart- 
ure, and  he  left  the  young  couple  domesticated 
with  his  father  at  his  country  villa.* 

•  Masson's  Life  of  Milton,  vol.  1,  p.  530. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  77 


CHAPTER,    y. 

• 

When  John  Milton  went  abroad,  the  whole 
Continent  heaved  in  the  throes  of  that  Titanic 
conflict  which  commenced  in  1618,  and  raged 
without  cessation  until  1648,  to  which  history 
has  affixed  the  name  of  "The  Thirty  Years' 
War."  That  momentous  struggle  between  pre- 
rogative and  popular  liberty,  between  prelacy 
and  Puritanism  in  England,  whose  early  phases 
we  have  traced,  and  which  was  about  to  burst 
forth  when  the  great  poet  crossed  the  channel, 
was  but  an  eddy  of  the  European  contest  be- 
tween the  Jesuitism  of  the  Vatican  and  the 
Protestant  idea. 

In  its  origin,  the  "Thirty  j^ears'  war"  was 
an  insurrection  of  the  Protestants  of  Bohemia, 
and  other  Slavonian  possessions  of  Austria,  in 
1618-19,  against  the  unbearable  persecutions 
of  the  Austrian  Csesars  who  then  led  the  Cath- 
olic reaction  in  its  assault  upon  the  Reforma- 
tion.    These  sovereigns  being  likewise  empe- 


78  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

rors  of  German}',  recruited  tlieir  shattered 
ranks  from  time  to  time  from  the  Lanzknechts 
of  the  German  principalities,  and  finally  drew 
the  whole  German  confederation  into  the  war. 
In  this  stage  of  the  struggle,  the  representa-* 
tive  of  the  Protestant  principle  both  in  Bohe- 
mia and  in  Germany  was  that  Frederick,  Elec- 
tor Palatine,  who  married  Elizabeth  Stuart, 
the  sister  of  Charles  First  of  England,  and  who 
lost  both  kingdom  and  palatinate  in  the  sequel. 
This  period,  from  1618  to  1625,  was  called 
"the  war  of  the  Palatinate.*' 

Then  Denmark  and  Sweden  stepped  into 
the  arena  as  the  champions  of  menaced  Prot- 
estantism, retrieving  "the  good  old  cause"  by 
the  victories  of  Gustavus  Adolphus;  the  last 
of  which  was  sealed  by  the  heroic  death  of 
that  great  captain.  This  formed  the  Danish 
and  Swedish  stage  of  the  war,  lasting  from 
1625  until  1634. 

Meantime,  to  the  support  of  Austria  and 
Catholic  Germany,  had  come  Spain  under 
Philip  II.,  the  most  bigoted  king  in  history. 
She  drew  in  her  train  Naples,  Sicily,  Milan, 
indeed  the  entire  Italian  peninsula;  so  that 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  79 

the  Catholic  powers  were  almost  a  unit  in  this 
attempt  finally  to  suppress  German  and  Sla-  . 
vonian  Protestantism.  In  this  posture  stood 
Latin  Europe,  while  religious  liberty  was  una- 
ble to  foresee  from  whence  its  muster  should 
come. 

At  this  desperate  crisis,  contrary  to  all 
ordinary  calculation,  a  Catholic  power  charged 
to  the  rescue.  France,  witnessing  the  rapid 
strides  of  Spain,  its  rival,  towards  universal 
empire,  and  frightened  by  the  extraordinary 
and  inimical  influence  which  that  kingdom  had 
acquired  in  Continental  politics,  had  long  se- 
cretly opposed  the  allies  through  Swedish  sub- 
sidies and  diplomatic  services  in  Germany. 
Upon  the  death  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  per- 
ceiving that  the  time  had  come  either  to  give 
up  all  hope  of  French  supremacy,  or  energeti- 
cally to  reinforce  succumbing  Protestantism, 
Richelieu,  the  great  statesman  who  then  wield- 
ed the  destinies  of  France,  did  not  hesitate  to 
fling  the  immense  weight  of  the  French  arms 
into  the  scale  of  battle.  France  was,  to  be 
sure,  a  Catholic  power,  but  of  a  very  different 
type  from  Spain.    Huguenot  principles  had  so 


80  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

leavened  her  Catholicism,  that  it  was  capable, 
•  when  necessar}^  of  splendid  inconsistencies. 
And  as  for  Richelieu,  though  he  was  profess- 
edly a  cardinal  of  the  Roman  see,  he  was  real- 
ly a  secular  statesman  of  the  rarest  genius  and 
foresight. 

The  year  1635  had  been  signalized  by  a 
magnificent  burst  of  simultaneous  strategy, 
which  crackled  over  Europe.  Richelieu  had 
declared  war  against  Spain  as  well  as  against 
the  German  emperor;  he  had  established  more 
intimate  relations  with  Oxenstiern,  the  famous 
Swedish  minister ;  the  wreck  of  the  Protestant 
forces  had  been  taken  into  French  pay ;  an 
alliance  had  been  concluded  with  the  states- 
general  of  Holland ;  and  French  armies  had 
invaded  Raly,  Germany,  Spain,  and  the  Neth- 
erlands. Thus  began  the  linal,  or  "French 
period"  of  this  historic  war,  to  which  there 
was  to  be  no  end  until  the  peace  of  Westpha- 
lia in  1648. 

Such  is  a  brief  resume  of  the  origin  and 
various  phases  of  "The  Thirty  Years'  War," 
up  to  the  year  1638.  When  Milton  arrived 
in  Paris,  three  years  of  (he  "French  period" 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  81 

had  already  elapsed.  The  marchings  and 
countermarchings  of  the  opposing  armies  were 
the  universal  theme  of  conversation :  Bernard 
of  Weimar,  D'Enghien,  Turenne — the  names 
of  these  military  heroes  were  blazing  brightl}^, 
while  along  the  lines  of  the  generals  were 
creeping  negotiators  as  famous  in  their  diplo- 
matic craft,  breaking  Richelieu's  threads,  or 
knitting  them  more  firmly  together. 

With  matters  of  such  moment  as  the  topics 
of  his  familiar  gossip,  Milton,  after  a  brief  stay 
in  the  giddy  French  metropolis,  continued  his 
journey  in  a  leisurely  way  through  southern 
France  towards  the  Italian  frontier,  taking  in 
his  route  Lyons,  Provence,  and  the  Rhone, 
and  entering  Italy  at  Nice. 

He  had  taken  care,  before  leaving  home,  to 
provide  himself  with  numerous  letters  of  in- 
troduction to  distinguished  foreign  savants,  and 
had  thus,  while  at  Paris,  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  famous  Dutch  writer,  Grotius,  who  was 
then  residing  at  that  capital  in  the  capacity  of 
Swedish  minister.  So  far  as  regarded  funds, 
his  father  had  amply  provided  for  him,  and  he 
took  with  him  also  one  servant. 

4* 


82  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

There  is  much  about  Italy  to  attract  schol- 
arly and  poetic  minds.  Its  thronging  historic 
remembrances;  its  treasures  of  art;  its  vocal 
ruins;  its  marvellous  climate,  with  the  deli- 
ciously  "soft  wind  blowing  from  the  blue  heav- 
en ;"  its  landscapes  of  plains  and  terraces,  rich 
with  corn  and  wine,  adorned  with  olive-groves, 
or  picturesque  with  garden  and  villa,  the  scene 
on  one  side  reaching  to  the  peaks  of  the  Ap- 
ennines, bounded  on  the  other  by  the  blue 
Mediterranean  which  kisses  the  Italian  strand. 
Yes,  there  is  very  much  in  Italy  to  awaken 
the  passionate  interest  even  of  the  most  prosaic 
intellect.  How  then  must  it  have  affected 
Milton,  who  had  studied  its  history  and  dream- 
ed of  its  fatal  beauty  from  a  boy,  through 
whose  mind  trooped  the  figures  of  its  mighty 
sons,  who  had  learned  its  glorious  legends  by 
heart. 

But  with  Milton,  the  poet  did  not  exclude 
the  statesman  and  the  Christian.  He  meant 
to  acquaint  himself  thoroughly  with  the  man- 
ners and  the  politics  of  those  peoples  with  whom 
he  might  sojourn.  He  meant  also  to  study 
Catholicism  in  its  action  at  home,  and  to  know 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  83 

those  distinguished  foreigners  whom  it  might 
afterwards  be  an  honor  to  have  seen. 

Unusually  well  informed  beforehand  re- 
specting the  geography,  history,  and  social 
condition  of  Italy,  and  incalculably  assisted  by 
his  familiarity  with  the  language,  Milton  press- 
ed southward  by  rapid  stages  towards  the 
central  and  more  interesting  portions  of  the 
Italian  peninsula.  From  Nice  the  coasting 
packet  carried  him  to  G-enoa,  where  he  tarried 
for  a  little,  admiring  the  beauties  of  the  bay, 
and  observing  ' '  the  proud  palaces  in  and 
about,  whereof  there  are  two  hundred  within 
two  miles  of  the  town,  and  no  two  of  them  of 
the  same  form  of  building."  At  Genoa  he 
also  came  first  in  contact  with  the  swarms  of 
lazzaroni  or  beggars,  who  then  as  now  infested 
the  country,  affording  a  pathetic  proof  of  its 
political  mismanagement. 

From  Genoa  Milton  sailed  by  packet  to 
Leghorn,  from  whence  he  passed  inland  some 
fourteen  miles,  to  the  ancient  town  of  Pisa. 
Here  he  spent  several  delightful  days  viewing 
the  gems  of  Pisan  art.  Once  or  twice  during 
that  time  he  ascended  the  old  belfry,  or  lean- 


84  THE  LIFE  AND   TIMES 

ing  tower,  from  whose  dizzy  height  he  survey- 
ed the  surrounding  country,  and  cast  his  eyes 
far  out  over  the  Tuscan  sea. 

From  Pisa  he  went  forty-five  miles  further 
inhmd,  up  the  course  of  the  Arno,  to  Florence, 
then  as  now  the  most  charming  city  in  Chris- 
tendom. Here,  as  he  himself  informs  us,  Mil- 
ton remained  two  months. 

Much  as  he  loved  the  whole  of  Italy,  Mil- 
ton felt  a  peculiar  affection  for  Florence.  Its- 
history  ran  back  to  days  that  were  legendary 
even  to  Dante.  It  contained  the  churches  of 
Santa  Croce,  San  Lorenzo,  and  many  more. 
The  Palazzo  Yecchio,  an  old  structure  identi- 
fied with  the  days  of  the  republic,  still  reared 
its  hoary  walls.  The  city  was  synonj^mous 
with  art  and  poetry.  The  grandest  masters 
had  here  lived  and  wrought.  Florence  had 
witnessed  the  marvels  of  Angelo's  chisel  and 
the  rich  frescoes  of  his  pencil.  There  was  the 
Laurentian  library,  an  immense  collection  of 
rare  manuscripts,  brought  together  by  the 
princely  Medici,  when  that  illustrious  house 
led  the  revival  of  learning.  Here  was  the 
Baptistry  in  which  Dante  broke  the  carved 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  85 

font  in  liis  haste  to  save  a  drowning  child. 
Here  was  Dante's  house.  Here  was  the  cell, 
in  San  Marco,  of  Savanarola ;  and  here  rested 
at  that  very  time  the  telescopes  of  Galileo, 
upon  whose  living  face  Milton  was  fortunate 
enough  to  look.  The  chosen  haunt  of  belles- 
lettres  scholarship  and  the  fine  arts,  the  very 
air  was  lovesick  with  music  and  poetry. 

Milton's  whole  visit  was  one  continued 
ovation.  Into  the  living  society  of  the  city, 
at  that  time  peculiarly  agreeable  and  learned, 
he  found  instant  and  cordial  admission,  mak- 
ing friends  to  whom  he  continued  life-long 
attached.  "There  immediately,"  he  says,  "I 
contracted  acquaintance  of  many  noble  and 
learned  men,  whose  private  academies  also — 
which  are  an  institution  of  most  praiseworthy 
effect,  both  for  the  cultivation  of  polite  letters 
and  the  keeping  up  of  friendships — I  assidu- 
ously attended.  The  memory  of  you,  Jacobo 
Gaddi,  of  you.  Carlo  Dati,  of  you,  Frescobaldi, 
of  you,  Cattellini,  Baumattei,  Chimentelli, 
Francini,  and  of  not  a  few  others,  always  de- 
lightful and  pleasant  to  me,  time  shall  never 
destroy." 


86  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

The  academics  of  which  j\rilton  here  speaks 
were  institutions  quite  distinct  from  the  uni- 
versities, great  museums,  and  libraries  estab- 
lished  in   the   chief  cities  of  Europe,   being 
nearer  akin  to  what  we  now  call  literary  clubs 
and  philosophical  societies.     They  originated 
in  the  fifteenth  century,  when  Cosmo  de  Med- 
ici founded  the  "Platonic  academy"  at  Flor- 
ence for  the  purpose  of  reading  and  discussing 
the  writings  of  Plato,  and  when  "academies'' 
were  established  for  the  same  or  simihir  pur- 
poses   in    Rome,    Naples,    and   Venice,    that 
scholars  in-  those  cities  might  get  together, 
read  the  classic  authors,  compare.manuscripts, 
and    exchange    their   ideas   and    information. 
These    institutions    spread    throughout    Italy 
very  speedily,  so  that  at  the  period  of  Milton's 
visit  every  town   of  any  importance   in   the 
peninsula  contained  several  of  them,  though 
the  academies  of  Florence  and  Rome  were  the 
most  famous.     They  were  precisely  the  kind 
of  literary  nests  in  which  the  great  English- 
man would  delight  to  hide  himself;  and  what- 
ever specimens  of  his  extraordinary  powers 
he  may  have  presented,  the  Florentine  schol- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  87 

ars  .soon  came  to  regard  him  as  the  prodigy 
he  was. 

Whenever  he  tired  of  the  debates  of  the 
academies,  he  might  stroll  by  the  banks  of  the 
Arno,  pass  contemplatively  through  the  an- 
cient streets,  or  standing  on  some  bridge,  peo- 
ple the  past  with  dusky  historic  figures,  and 
live  in  imagination  in  those  fierce  days  when 
Florence   ordered  that  Dante   to  be  burned 
alive  whose  dust  she  afterwards  begged  with 
vain  tears  from  Ravenna ;  or  most  interesting 
of  all,  he  might  pass  an  hour  at  Galileo's  villa, 
a  little  out  of  Florence,  being  greeted  by  the 
sage,  then  grown  old  and  blind,  with  cordial 
kindness,  while  upon  his  part  he  gazed  with 
reverend  attention  upon  the  mien  of  Italy's 
most   famous   son.      "There   it   was,"  .wrote 
Milton,  "that  I  found  and  visited  the  famous 
Galileo,  grown  old,  a  prisoner  to  the  Inquisi- 
tion for  thinking  in  astronomy  otherwise  than 
as  the   Franciscan   and  Dominican   licensers 
thought." 

Doubtless  he  wended  his  way,  under  the 
eager  escort  of  one  of  Galileo's  disciples,  to  the 
summit  of  the  adjacent  observatory'-,  whence 


83  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

the  great  Columbus  of  the  heavens  had  made 
his  revolutionizing  discoveries.  Pie  also  could 
gaze  upon  the  moon, 

"Whose  orb, 
Through  optic  glass,  the  Tuscan  artist  views 
At  evening  from  the  top  of  Fesole, 
Or  in  Valdamo,  to  descry  new  lands, 
Rivers,  and  mountains  in  her  spotty  globe."  , 

Milton  made  no  secret  of  his  religion  when 
that  subject  was  broached ;  and  his  friends, 
"  with  singular  politeness,"  as  he  afterwards 
said,  conceded  him  full  libert}"  of  speech  upon 
that  delicate  matter.  They  on  their  part  did 
not  conceal  their  sentiments,  which  in  that 
bigot  age  there  might  have  been  danger  in 
expressing  to  an  unknown  person.  "  I  could 
recount,"  he  wrote  six  j^ears  later  in  his 
"Plea  for  Unlicensed  Printing"  in  England, 
"what  I  have  seen  and  heard  in  other  coun- 
tries, where  this  kind  of  inquisition  tyrannizes, 
when  I  have  sat  among  their  learned  men — 
for  that  honor  I  had — and  been  accounted 
happy  to  be  born  in  such  a  place  of  philo- 
sophic freedom  as  they  supposed  England  was, 
while  themselves  did  nothing  but  bemoan  the 
servile  condition  into  which  learning  among 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  89 

them  was  brought — that  this  was  it  which  had 
damped  the  glory  of  Italian  wits,  that  nothing 
had  been  written  there  now  these  many  years 
but  flattery  and  fustian." 

After  the  pleasantest  of  visits,  Milton  felt 
compelled  to  tear  himself  away  from  Florence, 
greatly  to  the  regret  of  his  many  warm  friends 
there,  in  order  to  set  out  for  Rome,  which  city 
he  reached  in  early  October,  1638,  when  the 
unhealthy  season  of  the  Campagna  was  safely 
past. 

Here  he  remained,  he  tells  us,  "nearly  two 
months,"  detained  by  "the  antiquity  and  an- 
cient renown  of  the  city."  In  Rome  still  more 
than  in  Florence  might  he  dream  of  the  shad- 
owy past  when  standing  in  the  capital,  in  the 
Coliseum,  on  the  Tarpeian  rock,  or  when  visit- 
ing the  temples,  the  baths,  and  the  tombs,  the 
monumental  wonders,  and  all  the  garnered 
trophies  of  the  spoiler  Time. 

Yet  though  the  Rome  of  the  past,  of  the 
mythical  Latin-Etruscan  kings,  of  the  republi- 
can era,  and  of  the  empire,  might  throng  his 
mind  with  the  thrilling  legends  of  antiquity,  he 
was  not  so  engrossed  by  it  as  to  be  unable  to 


GO  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

see  and  commiserate  the  shrunken  Rome  of  his 
own  time.  Still,  "The  Eternal  City,"  though 
discrowned  of  its  ancient  glory,  was  a  splendid 
ruin,  and  wonderfully  rich  in  artistic  beauties. 
St.  Peter's  was  then  but  recently  completed. 
There  was  also  the  adjacent  Vatican.  The 
whole  city  was  flushed  with  the  hues  of  paint- 
ing; the  public  squares  were  crowded  with 
statuary  5  the  marvels  of  mediaeval  art  were 
scattered  with  lavish  hand  in  all  quarters — 
monuments  which  recalled  the  earlier  and 
nobler  popes,  which  connected  those  days 
with  the  brilliant  episode  of  Rienzi  and  the 
schism. 

It  has  been  very  plausibly  conjectured  that 
these  immortal  objects  may,  many  of  them,  be 
traced  in  their  effect  upon  Milton's  subsequent 
poetry.  The  frescoes  of  Angelo,  then  fresh  in 
the  Sistine  chapel,  the  beauties  of  the  milder 
canvas  of  Raphael,  the  marbles  of  Bandinelli, 
who  had  executed  statues  of  Adam  and  Eve — 
all  these  being  illustrative  of  holy  writ — it  is 
not  impossible  that  they  did  stimulate  the  mind 
of  Milton,  and  direct  it  to  the  study  of  those 
early   scenes   of  the   creation  which    he  has 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  91 

grouped   so    marvellously    in    the    ''Paradise 
Lost:' 

Iq  Rome,  as  in  Florence,  the  young  English- 
man speedily  formed  the  acquaintance  of  the 
most  famous  characters  of  the  time.  The  kind- 
ness of  Holstenius,  the  learned  keeper  of  the 
Vatican  librar}'-,  not  only  opened  to  his  favor- 
ed eyes  that  grand  but  usually  closed  reposi- 
tory of  literature,  but  introduced  him  to  the 
friendly  attentions  of  Cardinal  Barberini,  at 
that  time  possessed  of  the  whole  delegated  sov- 
ereignty of  Rome  1^^  his  uncle  the  reigning 
pope.  Urban  YIII. 

This  prelate  treated  Milton  with  marked 
politeness,  giving  in  his  honor  a  magnificent 
concert,  and  bringing  him  by  hand  into  the 
assembly.  It  was  upon  this  occasion  that  he 
first  listened  to  the  singing  of  the  celebrated 
Leonora  Baroni,  the  Sontag  or  Jenn}^  Lind  of 
her  age.  Passionately  fond  of  music,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  beautiful  cantatrice  made  a  great 
impression  upon  Milton,  who  evinced  his  ad- 
miration for  her  vocal  talents  in  two  or  three 
Latin  epigrams. 

In  Rome,  as  in  Florence  before,  several  of 


92  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

tlie  literati  addressed  eulogistic  couplets  to  the 
gifted  stranger,  all  of  wliicli  he  amply  repaid 
in  kind.  Kor  was  he  more  cautious  in  the 
expression  of  his  views  while  sojourning  in  the 
very  centre  of  intolerant  Romanism,  than  he 
had  been  while  seated  in  the  more  liberal 
academies  of  his  Florentine  friends.  Upon  all 
suitable  occasions  he  freely  mentioned  his  re- 
ligious opinions,  provoking  by  his  boldness  no 
little  wonder  among  his  associates. 

Sometime  in  November,  1638,  the  young 
traveller  quitted  Rome  f(f\:  Naples,  whither  he 
journeyed  in  company-  with  "a  certain  eremite 
friar,"  a  man  of  some  culture,  who,  upon  arriv- 
ing at  the  city  of  their  destination,  introduced 
him  to  that  Manso,  Marquis  of  Yilla,  who  had 
been  the  constant  patron  of  Tasso,  and  who, 
upon  the  death  of  that  ill-used  and  unhappj'" 
poet,  had  been  his  biographer.  Manso,  who 
had  formerly  distinguished  himself  in  the 
Spanish  service,  was  then  in  advanced  age, 
'and  with  ample  means  he  had  returned  to  his 
native  city  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  daj's. 
He  received  Milton,  a  poet  yet  superior  to  his 
immortal  fellow-countryman  and  friend,  with 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  93 

great  kindness,  pointed  out  himself  all  the  in- 
teresting Neapolitan  localities  and  curiosities 
to  the  young  stranger,  whom  he  also  entertain- 
ed in  his  own  palace,  and  did  eyerj  thing  pos- 
sible to  render  the  visit  agreeable. 

Milton  having  with  his  accustomed  freedom 
disclosed  in  the  course  of  a  conversation  his 
Protestantism,  Manso,  whom  he  seems  to  have 
completely  fascinated,  declared  that  his  only 
blemish  was  his  heresy.  When  his  guest  was 
about  to  leave  him,  Manso  presented  him  with 
a  Latin  distich  in  which  he  again  referred  to 
the  matter: 

"With  mind,  mien,  temper,  face,  did  faith  agree, 
Not  ANGLIC,  but  an  angel  wouldst  thou  be."* 

In  return  for  this  compliment,  Milton  ad- 
dressed to  this  venerable  friend  and  generous 
patron  of  the  muses,  a  Latin  poem  of  very  high 
merit,  which  abounds  in  fine  passages. 

Sicily  and  Greece  were  upon  Milton's  pro- 
gramme of  procedure.  He  longed  to  visit 
those  lands,  older  in  history  and  song  even  than 
the  Italian  peninsula.     Why  he  did  not  do  so 

*  The  original  is  as  follows  : 

"Ut  mens,  forma,  decor,  facies,  mas,  si  pietas  sic, 
Non  Anglusverum  hercle  Angelus  ipse  fores." 


94  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES       ' 

lie  himself  informs  us:  "While  I  was  desirous 
to  cross  into  Sicily  and  G-reece,  the  sad  news 
of  the  civil  war  coming  from  England  called 
me  back;  for  I  considered  it  disgraceful  that 
while  my  fellow-countr3'men  were  fighting  at 
home  for  liberty,  I  should  be  travelling  at  ease 
for  intellectual  purposes."* 

Nobl}'-  resolving  to  share  the  fortunes  of 
the  English  commons  in  the  opening  conflict, 
Milton  began  immediately  to  retrace  his  steps. 

It  seems  that  wdiat  Wood  calls  Milton's 
"resoluteness"  in  religion  while  at  Rome,  had 
provoked  the  bitter  anger  of  the  English  Jesuits. 
He  himself  says,  "  When  I  was  about  to  return 
to  Rome,  the  merchants  at  Naples  warned  me 
that  they  had  learned  by  letters  that  snares 
were  being  laid  for  me  by  the  English  Jesuits, 
if  I  should  return  to  Rome,  on  the  ground  that 
I  had  spoken  too  freel}"  concerning  religion. 
For  I  had  made  this  resolution  with  myself — 
not  indeed  of  my  own  accord  to  introduce  in 
those  places  conversation  about  religion ;  but, 
if  interrogated  respecting  the  faith,  then,  what- 
soever I  should  sufter,  to  dissemble  nothing. 

*  Dcf.,  Sec.  p.  W.,  Vol.  V,  p.  231. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  95 

To  Eome  therefore  I  did  return,  notwithstand- 
ing what  I  had  been  tokl :  what  I  was,  if  any 
one  asked,  I  concealed  from  no  one ;  if  any  one, 
in  the  very  cit}"  of  the  Pope,  attacked  the 
orthodox  religion,  I,  as  before,  for  a  second 
space  of  nearly  two  months,  defended  it  most 
freely.'"* 

The  license  permitted  Milton  was  extraor- 
dinary for  those  days.  Lord  Chandos,  in  a 
book  published  in  1620,  affirms  that  "if  a  man 
in  his  going  thither,"  to  Italy,  "converse  with 
Italians,  and  discuss  or  dispute  his  religion,  he 
is  sure,  unless  he  fly,  to  be  complained  of  and 
brought  before  the  Inquisition."  Yet  this  was 
precisely  what  Milton  did  for  over  a  year, 
scattering  his  remarks,  criticisms,  and  com- 
ments with  perfect  unconcern,  and  permitting 
his  discussions  at  moments  to  become  almost 
polemical.  The  matchless  courage  and  earnest 
piety  wdiich  would  not  permit  him  to  listen  in 
silence  to  attacks  on  "the  orthodox  religion," 
are  above  human  praise.  But  this  stout  English 
independence  was  highly  characteristic  of  the 
man. 

•  Def.  Sec,  Works  VI,  pp.  288,  289. 


90  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Upon  his  return  to  Florence  lie  was  wel- 
comed, as  he  tells  us,  with  no  less  eagerness 
than  if  the  return  had  been  to  his  native  coun- 
try and  his  friends  at  home.  Here  he  spent 
two  additional  months  in  the  society  of  his  old 
friends  the  academicians;  and  from  Florence 
he  indited  a  letter  of  thanks  to  Holstenius, 
already  mentioned  as  the  keeper  of  the  Vati- 
can librar}'  at  Rome,  for  his  many  and  kind 
attentions. 

When  he  left  Florence  for  the  last  time,  he 
crossed  the  Apennines,  and  travelled  through 
Bologna  and  Forrara  to  A^enice.  The  singular 
attractions  of  that  remarkable  cit}^  detained 
him  for  a  month  in  their  examination.  Yenice 
then  contained  several  celebrated  academies, 
of  which  the  '' Incognito  ^^  was  chief.  It  has 
been  suggested'''  that  the  city  and  its  inhabi- 
tants would  not  be  the  less  interesting  to  Mil- 
ton, from  the  fact  that  in  Venice  alone,  in 
Ital}',  was  there  some  independence  of  opinion 
as  regarded  both  the  Pope  and  the  Spaniard, 
and  that  there  had  even  been  expectations 
that  Venice,  in  her  struggle  with  the  papacy, 

•  By  Ma.sson,  in  his  Life  of  Miltou,  p.  G55,  Vol.  I. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON  07 

would  set  the  example  of  Italian  Protestant- 
ism. At  all  events  he  tarried  there,  deeply 
absorbed,  for  thirty  odd  days ;  when,  after  pro- 
viding for  the  transportation  to  England  of  the 
many  rare  books  and  manuscripts,  a  number 
of  them  musical  compositions  by  the  best  mas- 
ters then  living,  which  he  had  collected  dur- 
ing his  tour,  he  continued  his  homeward  course 
through  Yerona  and  Milan,  over  the  Pennine 
Alps,  and  by  lake  Lemanus,  to  G-eneva. 

Geneva  has  been  fitly  called  the  Rome  of 
Protestantism.  It  was  then  the  strong-hold  of 
the  reformed  theology,  and  contained  a  uni- 
versity which  was  presided  over  by  men  of 
remarkable  attainments  and  earnest  piety,  who 
kept  up  the  faith  and  the  discipline  established 
by  the  Reformation.  There  Milton  again 
breathed  the  fresh,  free  air  of  Protestantism, 
after  his  long  confinement  to  the  Catholic  at- 
mosphere of  Ital3\  And  here  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  eminent  theologians,  Fred- 
eric Spanheim,  and  Giovanni  Deodati,  already 
mentioned  in  these  pages,  andthe  uncle  of  his 
intimate  friend,  Charles  Deodati. 

After  a  pleasant  visit  at  Geneva  of  a  week 


98  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

or  more,  Milton  retraced  his  former  route 
through  France,  and  arrived  in  England  early 
in  August,  1G39,  after  an  absence  of  one  year 
and  three  months. 

It  is  perhaps  proper  to  close  this  chapter 
by  appending  the  sentence  with  which  Milton 
himself  concludes  his  account  of  liis  Conti- 
nental tour:  "I  again  take  God  to  witness, 
that  in  all  those  places  where  so  many  things 
are  considered  lawful,  I  lived  sound  and  un- 
touched from  all  profligacy  and  vice;  having 
this  thought  perpetually  with  me,  that  though 
I  might  escape  the  eyes  of  men,  I  certainly 
could  not  the  eyes  of  God."* 

*  Def.  Sec,  Works  VI.,  p.  289. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  99 


CHAPTER    yi. 

Upon  touching  once  more  his  native  shore, 
Milton  found  chaos  everywhere.  Anarchy  in 
the  streets,  bitter  dissension  in  the  church,  the 
general  dissolution  of  old  institutions,  "grim- 
visaged  war"  lowering  with  "its  wrinkled 
front,"  effectually  routed  all  idea  of  continuing 
that  peaceful  and  secluded  existence  to  which 
he  had  hitherto  been  wedded. 

The  opening  acts  in  the  drama  of  the  great 
rebellion  were  already  being  enacted.  King 
Charles,  bent  upon  enforcing  the  dogma  of  con- 
formity with  the  English  ritual,  had  even  in- 
vaded Scotland  at  the  head  of  an  army,  for 
the  purpose  of  compelling  the  Scotch,  who  had 
been  Calvinized  or  Presbyterianized  under 
the  exhortations  of  stout  John  Knox,  to  whose 
teachings  they  remained  enthusiastically  true, 
to  desert  their  cree'd,  and  accept  in  its  place 
the  Episcopal  polity. 

When  the  "Service-book,"  as  the  bishops 
had  named  the  new  Scottish  Liturgy,  was  cir- 


100  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

culated  and  ordered  to  be  used  bj^  all  parish 
ministers  on  pain  of  outlawry,  the  rage  which 
swept  through  Scotland  was  portentous.  The 
refusal  to  comply  with  the  conformity  laws 
was  universal  and  indignant.  A  riot  at  Edin- 
burgh, when  the  Service-book  ritual  was  at- 
tempted to  be  read,  summoned  all  Scotland  to 
arms.  "Posts  running  thick  betwixt  the  court 
in  London  and  the  Scottish  council,''  says 
Baillie,  "spread  the  news  of  the  insurrection 
far  and  near."  Charles,  in  an  unhappy  hour, 
determined  to  coerce  "these  Scottish  men  who 
had  the  presumption  to  think  independently 
in  religious  matters."*  One  expedition,  dis- 
patched into  Scotland  during  Milton's  absence 
upon  the  Continent,  had  proved  futile ;  in  1G39, 
about  the  time  of  his  return,  Charles  equipped 
a  second  expedition,  and  this  also  had  been 
compelled  by  Leslie  to  retreat. 

Meantime  the  "Scottish  men,"  as  Claren- 
don calls  them,  flocked  to  Edinburgh  from  all 
quarters,  and  at  a  meeting  held  in  the  Gra}'- 
friars'  church  in  that  ancient  capital,  "signed 
a  solemn  covenant"  never  to  submit  to  the 

•  Clarendon. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  101 

abolition  of  the  religious  forms  they  loved, 
aud  never  to  accept  the  innovations  of  the 
prelates.  Thus  originated  the  famous  "Cove- 
nanters." The  signing  continued  for  many 
weeks  both  at  Edinburgh  and  throughout  Scot- 
land, until  nine-tenths  of  the  whole  lowland 
population  had  sworn  themselves  members  of 
the  league 

.  Such  was  the  posture  of  affairs  in  Scotland. 
In  England,  though  the  Puritans  were  at 
the  outset  less  stubborn,  as  they  were  less 
numerous  and  more  loosely  organized  than  on 
the  north  of  the  Tweed,  the  hubbub  grew 
apace ;  and  joining  the  chorus  of  religious  pro- 
test, the  new  Parliament,  which  the  unsettled 
state  of  the  nation  had  obliged  the  unwilling 
king  to  convoke,  gave  additional  emphasis  to 
the  popular  demand  that  the  tyrannical  action 
of  the  prelates  should  be  curbed  in  ecclesiasti- 
cal matters,  and  that  in  the  civil  domain  the 
arbitrary  prerogatives  of  the  crown  should  be 
defuiitely  surrendered,  as  alien  to  the  spirit 
of  the  British  Constitution,  and  as  outraging 
the  liberty  wrung  from  despotism  by  Magna 
Charta. 


102  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

The  Parliament  of  April,  1G40,  instead  of 
proving  more  compliant  than  its  predecessors, 
was  the  boldest  yet  convoked.  It  refused  to 
grant  the  king  all  supplies,  until  he  acceded  to 
their  just  demands.  Charles,  with  an  empty 
exchequer,  greatly  indebted,  and  with  an  army 
on  his  hands  drawn  together  with  much  diili- 
culty,  to  whom  the  state  had  fallen  into  arrears, 
had  the  still  further  mortification  of  learning 
that  the  eleven  years'  interni.ission  between 
the  present  Parliament  and  the  })rior  one,  had 
made  his  subjects  no  more  submissive  to  his 
usurpations,  nor  did  he  find  them  any  the  less 
tenacious!}'  wedded  to  popular  rights.  En- 
raged at  his  disappointment,  he  dissolved  the 
Parliament. 

The  dark  cloud  grew  blacker  every  ^ay. 
The  Scottish  army,  zealous  and  triumphant, 
were  alread}"  marching  for  the  borders  of  Eng- 
land. The  discontent  of  the  English  people 
became  more  and  more  demonstrative.  The 
court  having  begged,  borrowed,  and  plundered 
money  from  friend  and  foe,  Jew  and  Gentile, 
was  at  length  bankrupt. 

Charles,  appalled  by  the  gathering  storm, 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  103 

and  conscious  of  bis  inability  to  stem  the  tor- 
rent, determined  once  more  to  convoke  a  Par- 
liament, and  yield  at  least  in  a  measure  to 
necessity.  Accordingly  that  Parliament,  fa- 
mous in  history  under  the  name  of  the  "Long- 
Parliament,"  on  account  of  the  length  of  its 
continuance,  whose  "rump"  was  finally  dis- 
persed by  a  stamp  of  the  iron  heel  of  Crom- 
well, was  convened.  Its  first  measure  was  to 
order  the  impeachment  of  Thomas  Wentworth, 
Earl  of  Strafford,  the  chief  minister  of  the 
king,  and  Archbishop  Laud.  Against'  these 
men,  companions  in  tyrann}^,  and  in  some  sort 
the  authors  of  many  of  the  evils  under  which 
the  kingdom  groaned,  the  popular  feeling  ran 
very  high.  Wentworth  was  shortly  after  tried 
and  executed;  Laud  was  instantly  deposed 
from  his  Archiepiscopal  see  of  Canterbury  and 
thrown  into  the  tower. 

The  next  move  of  the  Parliament  was  to 
curb  the  usurpations  of  the  bishops,  to  demand 
the  abolition  of  the  Star  Chamber  court,  and 
to  settle  the  foundations  of  its  power  upon  a 
basis  which  should  be  thereafter  indestructi- 
ble.   The  House  of  Commons,  as  the  champion 


104  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

of  religious  and  civil  liberty,  had  come  to  be 
the  idol  of  the  liberal  masses.  Its  authority 
was  singularl}'-  large,  while  the  genius  of  its 
members,  comprising  such  names  as  Hampden, 
Pyne,  and  Henry  Yane,  gave  it  an  unusual 
amount  of  executive  ability. 

The  king,  after  several  foolish  and  treach- 
erous attempts  to  break  the  truce  just  declared 
between  himself  and  the  Parliament,  at  length, 
despoiled  of  many  of  his  prerogatives,  and  cov- 
ered with  shame,  quitted  London,  hurried  to 
the  ancient  city  of  York,  and  summoning  his 
partisans  to  assemble  beneath  his  banner, 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  thje  reactionary 
party,  inaugurating  the  civil  war  by  assault- 
ing, on  the  23d  of  October,  1642,  the  forces  of 
the  Parliament  lying  at  Edge-hill. 

Hume  declares'-'  that  the  nobility  and  more 
considerable  gentr}^  adhered  to  the  royal  side. 
The  Catholic,  the  high-church,  and  the  profli- 
gate parties  also  ranged  themselves  under  that 
ensign.  The  eclat  of  family  name,  proud  posi- 
tion, and  glittering  pomp  were  decidedly  with 
Charles.     But  opposed  to  him  stood  the  great 

♦  ffist.  Eng.,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  42n. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  105 

middle  classes,  then  as  now  omnipotent  in 
England.  The  Parliamentary  muster  was  an- 
imated by  an  earnestness,  an  enthusiasm,  and 
a  unity  of  purpose  which  made  its  onset  irre- 
sistible. Cromwell's  "Ironsides"  squadron  was 
simply  typical  of  the  iron  sides  of  the  popular 
cause.  Civil  and  religious  liberty  clasped 
hands,  and  trod  in  triumph  from  the  southern 
coast  of  Britain  to  the  Orkne}-  islands. 


5* 


106  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER   YII. 

The  preceding  chapter  is  devoted  to  a  suc- 
cinct surve}'  of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  con- 
dition of  Great  Britain  during  the  months  which 
immediately  portended  and  ushered  in  the 
Revolution.  Let  us  now  see  what  was  Milton's 
connection  with  that  initiatory  period. 

His  first  patriotic  sensations  on  reaching 
England  were  somewhat  benumbed  by  the 
calamity  of  a  private  loss — tha  death  of  his 
intimate  friend  and  sometime  schoolmate, 
Charles  Deodati.  Milton  gave  utterance  to  his 
sorrow  on  this  occasion  b}^  the  composition  of 
his  '' Ejntcqyhiwn  Damonis,''  one  of  the  most 
elegant  and  pathetic  pastorals  ever  wTitten, 
worthy  alike  of  his  genius  and  of  Deodati 's 
virtues. 

This  debt  of  fraternal  duty  paid,  he  hasten- 
ed to  London,  where,  after  receiving  the  con- 
gratulations of  his  friends  u})on  his  safe  return 
from  his    tour,   and   after  sadly   missing    the 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  107 

warmtli  of  poor  Deodati's  greeting,  he  hired 
handsome  lodgings,  first  in  St.  Bride's  court, 
Fleet-street,  and  shortly  in  Aldersgate-street, 
a  more  retired  locality.  Here,  taking  a  back 
room,  into  which  the  roar  of  the  street  should 
penetrate  as  little  as  possible,  Milton  arrang- 
ed his  library,  and  settled  down  into  fixed 
ways. 

The  expense  of  his  universit}^  education, 
and  of  his  travels,  seemed  to  make  it  proper 
that  Milton  should  draw  no  longer  upon  the 
resources  of  his  father,  always  so  generously  at 
his  service.  "My  life,"  he  saj^s,  "has  not 
been  unexpensive,  in  learning  and  voyaging 
about."  Therefore  remembering  that  he  was 
not  the  only  child,  and  desirous  of  becoming 
independent,  Milton  received  the  two  sons  of 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Phillips,  into  his  house  to  be 
instructed  and  educated.  At  the  earnest  solic- 
itation of  several  others,  all  intimate  friends, 
he  consented  to  receive  their  sons  also,  for  the 
same  purpose. 

The  system  of  education  which  Milton 
adopted  in  his  little  acadeni}^,  unlike  the  Uni- 
versity Curriculum,  upon  which,   as  we  have 


108  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

seen,  he  so  bitterly  animadverts,  was  sound 
and  comprehensive.  Dr.  Johnson,  and  other 
critics,  have  severely  censured  his  method  of 
instruction.  Bui  it  is  really  more  open  to 
criticism  on  account  of  its  extensive  and  ex- 
pensive character  than  in  any  other  respects. 
Dr.  Johnson  has  the  bad  taste  to  go  out  of  his 
way,  in  his  elaborate  assault  upon  Milton's 
educational  theory,  to  launch  a  sneer  at  the 
great  poet's  condescension  in  becoming  what 
he  terms  a  "schoolmaster."  Since  Johnson 
was  himself  a  sometime  schoolmaster,  the  slur 
comes  with  a  bad  grace  from  him.  But  did 
he  not  remember  that  the  noblest  intellects 
God  has  lent  the  world  have  st6oped  to  be 
the  teachers  of  mankind?  Did  he  not  recall 
Socrates  in  the  old  Athenian  streets?  Did 
he  not  remember  Plato  in  the  groves  of  the 
Academy?  Did  he  forget  Abelard,  who  shone 
so  brightly  in  the  middle  ages?  Had  he  for- 
gotten the  sublimest  of  all  teachers,  Christ  him- 
self, on  the  plains  of  Palestine? 

To  a  thoughtful  mind,  Milton's  occupation, 
that  of  conducting  young  minds  into  the  temple 
of  knowledge,  and  pointing  out  to  their  appre- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  100 

ciation  the  wise  actions  of  the  past,  the  treas- 
ured lore  of  antiquity,  the  memorable  deeds  of 
present  days^  the  thrilling  legends  of  sufferings 
endured  for  truth's  sake  or  for  justi(^,  and, 
best  of  all,  of  accompanying  them  into  the 
"holy  of  holies"  of  religious  sentiment,  will 
seem  a  fitting  and  fine  absorption  of  a  portion 
of  his  time. 

To  a  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Latin 
authors,  Milton's  plan  added  the  cultivation  of 
the  Asiatic  tongues,  "the  Chaldee,  the  Syriac, 
the  Hebrew;"  he  made  his  pupils  "go  through 
the  Pentateuch,  and  gain  an  entrance  into  the 
Targum ;"  nor  did  he  banish  from  his  theory 
the  modern  languages,  but  he  insisted  upon  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  best  Italian  and 
French  writers.  Every  Sunday  was  spent  in 
theological  study;  he  himself  was  wont  to  dic- 
tate, from  commentators  then  in  vogue,  short 
schemes  of  the  theological  system.  Pearce  has 
observed  that  Fagius  was  Milton's  favorite  an- 
notator  on  the  Bible.* 

But  his  pupils  did  not  wholly  engross  him. 
Milton  was  then — 1640 — thirty-two  years  of 

*  Mitford's  Life  of  Milton,  p.  30. 


110  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

age,  fully  ripe,  his  miud  enlarged  bj^  travel, 
and  singularl)^  learned.  From  bis  return  to 
England  in  1639  up  to  the  middle  of  1642, 
when  tie  civil  war  was  commenced  in  earnest, 
was  a  remarkably  prolific  period  iu  Milton".^ 
life,  many  of  his  most  elaborate  writings  being 
penned  in  that  time.  It  witnessed  the  birth  of 
several  of  his  polemical  works. 

One  phase  of  the  national  condition  on  his 
return  from  the  continent,  he  has  himself  de- 
scribed. "On  my  return  from  my  travels,  I 
found  all  mouths  open  against  the  bishops ; 
some  complaining  of  their  vices,  and  others 
quarrelling  with  the  vei*y  order ;  and  thinking, 
from  such  beginnings,  a  way  might  be  opened 
to  true  liberty,  I  hastil}"  engaged  in  the  dis- 
pute, as  well  to  rescue  my  fellow-citizens  from 
slavery,  as  to  help  the  Puritan  ministers,  who 
w^ere  inferior  to  the  bishops  in  learning.'' 

One  of  his  biographers.  Birch,  says,  "He, 
in  the  first  place,  published  two  books  on  the 
Eeformatiou  from  Poper}',  which  were  dedi- 
cated to  a  friend.  In  the  first  of  these  he 
proved,  from  the  reign  of  Plenry  YIIL,  what 
had  all  along  been  the  real  impediments  in  the 


^  or  JOHN  MILTON.  Ill 

kingdom  to  a  perfect  reformation.  These  he 
reduces  to  two  heads :  the  first,  the  Popish 
ceremonies  which  had  been  I'etained  in  the 
Protestant  church;  and  the  second,  the  power 
of  ordination  to  the  ministry  having  been  con- 
fined to  diocesan  bishops,  to  the  exclusion  of 
the  choice  of  ministers  by  the  suffrages  of  the 
people.  'Our  ceremonies,'  he  says,  'are  sense- 
less in  themselves,  and  serve  for  nothing  else 
but  either  to  facilitate  our  return  to  Popery, 
or  to  hide  the  defects  of  better  knowledge,  and 
to  set  off  the  pomp  of  prelacy.'  " 

This  "Treatise  on  the  Reformation"  was 
published  in  1641.  It  abounds  in  stirring 
passages,  and  was  written  with  a  i)urity  of 
motive  which  Milton  solemnly  invokes  the 
Deity  to  witness.     He  attempts  to  show  in  it, 

^that  the  prelates  of  the  English  church  had 
always  been  the  foes  of  liberty;   and  though 

>4fe  "denied  not  but  many  of  them  had  been 
good  men,  though  not  infallible,  nor  above 
all  human  frailties,"  he  yet  "affirmed  that, 
though  at  the  beginning  they  had  renounced 
the  Pojpe,  yet  they  had  hugged  the  Popedom, 
and  shared  the  authority  among  themselves; 


112  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

by  their  six  bloody  articles  persecuting  the 
Protestants  no  slacker  than  the  Pope  would 
have  done." 

In  contemplating  the  glorious  event  of  the 
Reformation,  he  rises  into  the  highest  elo- 
quence: "How  the  bright  and  glorious  Ref- 
ormation, by  divine  power,  shone  through  the 
black  and  settled  night  of  ignorance  and  anti- 
christian  tyranny ;  methinks  a  sovereign  and 
reviving  joy  must  needs  rush  into  the  bosom 
of  him  that  reads  or  hears,  and  the  sweet  odor 
imbue  his  soul  with  the  fragrancy  of  heaven. 
Then  was  the  sacred  Bible  brought  out  of  the 
dusty  corners  where  profane  falsehood  and 
neglect  had  thrown  it;  the  schools  opened, 
divine  and  human  learning  raked  out  of  the 
embers  of  forgotten  tongues;  princes  and  cit- 
ies trooping  apace  to  the  new-erected  banner 
of  salvation ;  the  martyrs,  with  the  irresistible 
might  of  weakness,  shaking  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, and  scorning  the  iiery  rage  of  the  old  red 
dragon." 

After  tracing  with  singular  acumen  the 
influence  of  prelacy,  and  displaying  the  anti- 
liberal  character  of  its  politics,  he  turns  to  the 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  113 

English  and  Scotch  Puritans  of  his  time,  united 
by  a  "  solemn  league  and  covenant"  to  pursue 
the  contest  for  liberty  in  church  and  state,  and 
thus  apostrophizes  them:  "Go  on  both,  hand 
in  hand,  Oh  nations  never  to  be  disunited. 
Be  the  praise  and  heroic  song  of  all  posterity. 
Merit  this  ;  but  seek  only  virtue,  not  to  extend 
vour  limits;  for  what  need  you  win  a  fading^ 
triumphant  laurel  out  of  the  tears  of  wretched 
men,  but  to  settle  the  pure  worship  of  God  in 
his  church,  and  justice  in  the  state  ?  Then 
shall  the  hardest  difficulties  smootl!  out  them- 
selves before  you ;  envy  shall  sink  to  hell ; 
craft  and  malice  be  confounded,  whether  it  be 
homebred  mischief  or  outlandish  cunning;  yea, 
other  nations  wall  then  covet  to  serve  you ; 
fo*.'  lordship  and  victory  are  but  the  passes  of 
justice  and  virtue.  Commit  securely  to  true 
wisdom  the  vanquishing  and  unusing  of  craft 
and  subtlety,  which  are  but  her  two  renegades. 
Join  3^our  invincible  might  to  do  worth}^  and 
godlike  deeds;  and  then  he  that  wishes  to 
break  your  union,  a  cleaving  curse  be  his 
inheritance  to  all  generations." 

In  1641,  the  same  year  in  which  Milton's 


114  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

"Treatise  on  the  Reformation"  appeared,  a 
number  of  Presbyterian  ministers  published, 
under  the  title  of  "Smectj^iinus,''*  consisting 
of  the  initial  letters  of  their  names,  a  treatise 
against  prelac}^  This  treatise  provoked  indig- 
nant replies,  which  again  drew  from  Milton 
three  several  reviews,  in  one  of  which,  Toland 
saj's,  "Milton  shows  the  insufficiency,  incon- 
veniency,  and  impiety  "  of  attempting  to  estab- 
lish any  part  of  Christianit}"  from  patristical 
lore,  "and  blames  those  persons  who  cannot 
think  any  doubt  resolved  or  any  doctrine 
confirmed  unless  they  run  to  that  undigested 
heap  and  frj'  of  authors  which  tliey  call  an- 
tiquity." '  Whatsoever  either  time  or  the  blind 
hand  of  chance,'  he  says,  '  has  drawn  down 
to  this  present,  in  her  huge  drag-net,  wheth- 
er fish  or  sea-weed,  shells  or  shrubs,  unpick- 
ed, unchosen,  these  are  the  fathers.' "  And 
so  he  chides  these  writers  "for  divulging  use- 
less treatises,  stuffed  with  the  specious  names 
of  Ignatius  and  Polycarpus,  with  fragments 
of  old  martyrologies  and  legends,  to  distract 

*  This  was  a  quarto  work,  wTitten  by  Stephen  ^Marshall,  Edward 
Calamy,  Thomas  Young,  Matthew  Newcomen,  and  William  Spurs- 
tow. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  115 

and  stagger  the  multitude  of  credulous  read- 
ers." 

To  one  of  those  writers  who  insinuated  that 
Milton's  habit  of  early  rising  was  for  sensual 
pursuits,  he  made  this  response:  "My  morn- 
ing haunts  are  where  the}'  should  be,  at  home ; 
not  sleeping,  or  concocting  the  surfeits  of  an 
irregular  feast,  but  up  and  stirring:  in  winter, 
often  before  any  bell  awakens  men  to  labor  or 
devotion;  in  summer,  as  apt  as  the  bird  that 
first  rouses,  or  not  much  tardier,  to  read  good 
authors,  or  cause  them  to  be  read  till  the  atten- 
tion is  weary,  or  the  memory  have  its  full 
fraught.  Then  with  useful  and  generous  labor 
preserving  the  body's  health  and  hardiness,  to 
render  a  lightsome,  clear,  and  not  lumpish 
obedience  of  the  mind  for  the  cause  of  relig- 
ion and  our  country's  liberty,  when  it  shall 
require  firm  hearts  in  sound  bodies  to  stand 
and  cover  their  stations,  rather  than  see  the 
ruin  of  our  Protestation,  and  the  enforcement 
of  a  slavish  life.  , 

"These  means,  together  with  a  certain 
niceness  of  nature,  an  honest  haughtiness  and 
self-esteem,  either  of  what  I  was  or  what  I 


116  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

might  be,  (which  let  env}''  call  pride,)  and  last- 
ly, a  burning  modest}^  all  uniting  their  natu- 
ral aid  together,  kept  nie  still  above  those 
low  descents  of  mind,  beneath  which  he  must 
l)lunge  himself  that  can  agree  to  saleable  and 
unlawful  prostitution. 

"If  I  should  tell  you  what  I  learnt  of  chas- 
tity and  love,  (I  mean  that  which  is  truly  so,) 
whose  charming  cup  is  only  virtue,  which  she 
bears  in  her  hand  to  those  who  are  worthy — 
the  rest  are  cheated  with  a  thick,  intoxicating 
potion,  which  a  certain  sorceress,  the  abuser 
of  love's  name,  carries  about — and  if  I  were  to 
tell  you  how  the  first  and  chiefest  office  of  love 
begins  and  ends  in  the  soul,  producing  those 
happy  twins  of  the  divine  generation,  know- 
ledge and  virtue,  with  such  abstracted  sublim- 
ities as  these,  it  micrht  be  worth  vour  listen- 
ing,  readers." 

It  will  be  observed  that  Milton's  objections 
to  the  assumptions  of  his  opponents  were  of  a 
twofold  nature:  objections  founded  upon  the 
dissenting  arguments  of  the  sufficiency  of  the 
Scriptures  alone,  and  the  right  of  private  judg- 
ment, rejecting  the  authorit}'  of  the  creeds  of 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  117 

the  first  four  general  councils ;  and  objections 
founded  on  an  earnest  opposition  to  the  clear- 
ly antichristian  principle,  then  a  cardinal 
point  in  the  prelatical  belief,  of  the  right  of 
the  civil  magistrate  to  adopt  rites  and  ceremo- 
nies, and  enforce  them  by  civil  pains  and  pen- 
alties upon  the  observance  of  those  whose  con- 
sciences would  not  allow  them  to  obey  any 
thing  in  religion  but  what  was  taught  them  in 
the  oracles  of  God. 

One  of  Milton's  biographers*  remarks  very 
truly,  that  though  the  blunt  and  caustic  style 
of  Milton's  writings,  and  the  gorgeous  elo- 
quence with  which  he  attacked  the  bishops, 
must  have  been  highly  diverting  to  those  Pu- 
ritans both  in  church  and  state  who  had  begun 
to  throw  off  their  prelatical  chains,  yet  the 
sentiments  would  be  often  very  far  from  meet- 
ing their  approval ;  because,  though  the  Puri- 
tans were  opposed  to  episcopacy,  yet  they  had 
no  objection  to  the  pnnciple  of  an  establish- 
ment, nor  to  what  was,  above  all,  exposed  and 
objected  to  by  Milton,  the  right  of  the  estab- 
lished sect  to  withhold  toleration,  and  to  pun- 

*  Ivimey,  p.  50. 


118  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ish  with  fines  and  imprisonment,  jqs,  even 
with  death,  those  who  would  not  submit  their 
consciences  to  the  dictation  of  the  magistrate. 
In  these  respects  the  Puritans  of  that  day 
were  no  whit  in  advance  of  the  prelates,  as 
they  proved  conclusively  upon  coming  into 
power.  They  disliked  not  the  princijyle  of  in- 
tolerance, but  intolerance  as  applied  to  their 
own  tenets. 

Milton  stands  out  from  those  times  as  the 
only  political  writer  whose  Christianity  and 
statesmanship  were  broad  and  generous  enough 
to  enable  him  to  appreciate  the  inestimable 
value  of  unfettered  thought,  and~  to  inscribe 
openly  upon  his  phylactery  the  golden  truth 
of  religious  toleration. 

Upon  first  entering  the  arena  of  controver- 
S}',  Milton's  modesty  led  him  to  say,  "I  was 
not  disposed  to  this  manner  of  writing,  where- 
in knowing  myself  inferior  to  m3'self,  led  by 
the  genial  power  of  nature  to  another  task,  I 
have  the  use,  as  I  may  account  it,  but  of  ray 
left  hand.'"'^     But  posterity-  has  reversed  his 

*  Introduction  to  second  volume  of  '  •  Reasons  of  Church  Gov- 
ernment." 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  119 

verdict,  and  sincerely  thanks  him  lor  his  po- 
lemical works,  not  because  they  arc  always 
fair,  or  always  just,  or  always  right,  but  be- 
cause, honestly  meant,  they  abound  in  noble 
thoughts  magnificently  expressed,  and  because 
their  tendency  is  towards  truth  and  liberty. 


120  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER   YIII. 

Upon  the  outbreak  of  hostilities,  the  Par- 
liament took  the  reins  of  government  in  their 
own  hands,  and  proceeded  to  the  correction  of 
man}^  abuses.  One  of  their  first  steps  was,  to 
exclude  the  bishops  from  their  seats  in  the 
upper  House.  Soon  after,  in  1643,  the  Lords 
and  Commons  signed  together  the  "Solemn 
League  and  Covenant "  which  bound  England 
and  Scotland  to  the  extirpation  of  Poper}^  and 
Prelacy.* 

Considering  how  greatly  Milton's  writings 
had  contributed  towards  that  consummation, 
it  must  have  afforded  him  undisguised  jo}^ 
because  with  his  sentiments,  as  expressed  in 
his  several  treatises  against  the  prelates,  he 
considered,  as  the  Parliament  appears  to 
have  done,  tliat  popcrj^  and  prelacy  were 
then  identical,  or  at  least  so  closely  united 
that  the  death  of  one  insured  the  burial  of  the 
other.     He  considered  that  the  overthrow  of 

•  Hume's  History  of  England,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  470. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  121 

prelacy  would  assimilate  the  Episcopacy  to 
the  simpler,  and  as  he  Ihought,  the  more  apos- 
tolic model  of  the  reformed  churches  in  other 
countries — introducing  their  exactness  of  dis- 
cipline, as  they  already  held  their  puritj'  of 
doctrine.* 

The  rule  of  the  Parliament,  from  the  open- 
ing battle  of  the  civil  war  at  Edge-hill  in  1642, 
up  to  the  year  1644,  had  been  checkered  by 
alternate  victory  and  defeat;  still,  upon  the 
whole,  the  Puritans  had  gained,  and  their  rule 
continued  firm. 

In  1644  there  occurred  an  event  which 
proved  Milton  to  be  the  friend  of  impartial 
liberty,  not  of  a  clique,  and  as  ready  to  lash 
the  inconsistencies  of  his  political  associates  as 
he  had  been  to  expose  the  sophistries  of  the 
oppressive  prelates.  Unlike  another  famous 
character  in  English  history,  he  would  never 
consent  "  to  give  up  to  jjarty  what  was  meant 
for  mankind." 

"No  pent-up  XJtica  confined  his  powers." 

When  he  beheld  the  Puritans,  who,  while 
smarting  under  the  intolerant  license  laws  of 

*  mtford's  Life  of  Milton,  p.  33. 

UUton.  6 


122  THE  LIFE  AND   TIMES 

the  prelates,  had  been  the  clamorous  friends 
of  the  freedom  of  the  press,  themselves,  upon 
their  assumption  of  power,  reenacting  those 
very  statutes  restricting  printing,  the  glaring 
inconsistency  of  these  apostate  patriots  kin- 
dled his  scornful  indignation,  and  called  forth 
an  argument  which  the  voices  of  the  most  op- 
posite critics  have,  with  singular  unanimity, 
described  as  one  of  the  most  masterly  and  elo- 
quent compositions  ever  originated  by  the  wit 
of  man.  Milton  called  his  argument,  "  Are- 
OPAGITICA;'^  or,  An  Oration  to  the  Parliament 
of  England  for  the  Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Print- 
tng. 

From  the  establishment  of  printing  in  Eng- 
land, the  business  had  been  constantly  inter- 
fered with  by  the  government,  which  in  this 
respect  imitated  the  inquisitorial  inspections 
of  the  Yatican.  In  the  reign  of  Philip  and 
Mary  an  attempt  was  made  to  consolidate  the 
printing  trade,  and  the  incorporation  of  the 
"Stationers'  Company  of  London"  was  finally 
effected  in  1557.  By  the  act  of  incorporation, 
the  exclusive  privilege  of  printing  "and  pub- 

*  From  the  Greek  Xpemrayvc,  an  ancient  Athenian  high  court. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  123 

lishing  in  the  English  domains  was  couferred 
upon  the  London  company  and  its  successors 
b}^  regular  apprenticeship.  The  object  of  the 
government  in  creating  this  gigantic  monopoly, 
the  centralization  of  literature  in  one  spot, 
where  it  could  be  under  the  immediate  eye  of 
the  court,  was  thus  gained.  The  company 
could  lawfully  search  for  and  seize  any  books 
printed  against  its  privilege,  and  such  illegal 
printing  was  punishable  by  fine  and  imprison- 
ment. 

When  Elizabeth  assumed  the  crown,  so 
stood  the  law  ;  but  that  the  determination  of 
what  should  be  published  might  not  be  wholly 
at  the  discretion  of  the  Stationers'  Company, 
she  decreed  by  the  fifty-first  of  the  Injunctions 
concerning  Religion,  promulgated  in  1559,  that 
no  book,  school-books  and  recognized  classics 
excepted,  should  be  published  in  any  language 
in  her  domains  henceforward,  but  with  the  pre- 
vious license  of  the  queen  or  six  of  her  privy 
counsellors,  or  by  the  chancellors  of  the  two 
universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  or  by 
the  archbishops  of  Canterbury  and  York,  or 
by  the  bishop  of  London,  or  by  the  bishop 


124  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

being  ordinary  and  the  archdeacon  of  the 
place  of  publication. 

The  privilege  which  the  universities  natu- 
rally claimed  as  seats  of  learning  to  print  at 
their  option,  had  caused  a  long  dispute  between 
themselves  and  the  London  company,  which 
was  finally  decided  b}^  a  Star  Chamber  decree. 
It  was  settled  that,  in  addition  to  the  printing- 
presses  under  the  control  of  the  stationers  of 
the  metropolis,  there  might  be  one  press  at 
each  university ;  the  owners  of  these  however, 
to  have  but  one  apprentice  at  a  time,  and  to 
employ  London  journeymen  when  they  re- 
quired extra  service.* 

These  laws,  so  capable  of  being  made  the 
engine  of  intolerable  oppression,  had  been  so 
used  by  Archbishop  Laud  and  his  satellites  ; 
and  that  too  at  a  time  when  it  was  felt  as  a  pe- 
culiar hardship.  That  was  a  period  of  remark- 
able intellectual  activity.  "  Every  man,'"  says 
Clarendon,  "had  written  or  expected  to  write 
a  book ;"  and  Coleridge  has  assured  us  that  the 
store  of  pamphlets  left  us  by  the  age  of  Milton 
is  as  rich  in  thought  and  as  multitudinous  in 

*Cooper's  Annals  (>f  Cnmbridge.  Vol.  II. ,  p.  424. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  126 

number  as  any  issued  fi'om  the  press  in  later 
days. 

People  then  complained  of  the  plethora  of 
books,  precisel}'  as  they  do  now.  "In  this 
scribbling  age,"  says  Burton  in  the  preface  to 
his  ''Anatomy  of  Melancholy,''^  "the  number  of 
books  is  without  number.  What  a  company 
of  poets  hath  this  year  brought  out ;  as  Pliny 
complains  to  Sosius  Senecio.  What  a  cat- 
alogue of  new  books  all  this  year,  all  this 
age,  I  say,  have  our  Franklin  marts,  our  do- 
mestic marts,  brought  out.  Who  can  read 
them?  We  are  oppressed  with  them,  our 
eyes  ache  with  reading,  our  lingers  with  turn- 
ing." 

Of  course  at  such  a  time  the  indispensable 
imprimatur  of  the  licensers  came  to  be  regarded 
by  writers  as  a  nuisance ;  and  by  the  Puritans 
it  was  especially  objected  to,  because  they  often 
could  not  secure  for  their  tracts  the  necessary 
license,  while  the  prelates  with  the  press  for  a 
fulcrum  turned  their  tenets  upside  down.  Yet, 
not  taught  toleration  by  their  own  suffering, 
they  had  no  sooner  deposed  the  bishops  than 
they  appointed  new  licensers,  and  continued 


126  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

the  Avliolc  tyrannical  system  under  the  new 
dispensation. 

It  was  against  the  principle  of  the  license 
code  that  Milton,  in  the  ''  Areopagitica,''^  trained 
his  intellectual  battery,  and  fired  that  tremen- 
dous broadside  which  reverberated  then,  and 
still  reverberates  throughout  the  world. 

The  ''  Areopagitica^^  is  opened  with  master- 
ly art ;  in  conciliatory  finesse,  the  exordium 
equals  any  thing  in  Greek  or  Eoman  oratory. 
"  Truth  is  armed,  by  reason  and  by  fancy,  with 
weapons  which  are  effective  by  their  weight 
and  edge,  while  the}'  dazzle  us  by  their  bright- 
ness." Milton's  arguments,  which  are  individ- 
uall}'  strong,  derive  additional  force  from  their 
mutual  support  and  admirable  arrangement; 
so  that  at  the  climax  they  compel  with  imperi- 
ous power  unhesitating  conviction. 

Showing  at  the  outset  that  fetters  for  the 
press  were  first  contrived  by  the  papal  tyran- 
ny,''' and  perfected  by  the  Spanish  inquisition. 


*  Dr.  Syminons,  in  his  Life  of  Hilton,  appends  this  note  to  his 
clescription  of  the  "  Areopagitica :"  "The  turbulent  and  profligate 
Sextus  IV.,  whose  enormities  were  exceeded  only  by  those  of  Alex- 
ander VI.,  was  the  first  who  placed  the  press  under  the  control  of 
a  stiite  inquisitor.     He  died  in  1484,  after  having  disgraced  the 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  127 

he  next  proceeds  to  prove  that  these  gags  are 
injurious  to  civil  progress  and  religious  truth. 
He  affirms  that  the  circulation  of  flagitious 
writings  cannot  be  restrained  by  shackling  the 
press ;  while  the  suspicion  which  falls  upon 
works,  suppressed  often  by  the  ignorance  of 
licensers,  or  by  their  spite,  is  an  insult  to 
authors,  and  a  discouragement  to  the  learned. 
Even  admitting  that  the  entire  control  of  the 
press  could  be  attained,  as  it  certainly  never 
has  been,  still  no  good  would  result  to  morals, 
as  the  avenues  of  corrupt  communication  would 
be  alwaj^s  numerous ;  while,  after  all,  not  igno- 
rance of  vice,  but  its  rejection,  constitutes  virtue. 

"  Adam's  doom  seems  to  have  been  that  of 
knowing  good  hj  evil.  A  fugitive  and  cloister- 
ed virtue  is  not  to  be  praised — a  virtue  unex- 
ercised and  unbreathed,  that  never  sallies  out 
and  sees  her  adversar}^,  but  slinks  out  of  the 
race  where  that  immortal  garland  is  to  be  run 
for,  not  without  dust  and  heat." 

Milton  scouts  the  idea  of  any  one  class  un- 
dertaking to  decide  for  mankind  what  truth  is. 

Eoman  see  and  disturbed  Italy  during  thirteen  years.  This  is  not 
specified  by  Milton,  but  is  the  fact." 


128  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Opinion  is  not  always  truth  ;  it  is  truth  filtered 
through  the  mood,  the  disposition,  the  educa- 
tion, the  stand-point  of  the  spectator.  While 
the  bishops  affirmed  that  orthodoxy  was  their 
'doxy,  the  Dissenters  were  just  as  firmly  per- 
suaded that  the  orthodox  religion  dwelt  with 
them;  while  the  Pope  fulminated  his  bulls  of 
excommunication  against  them  both,  arrogating 
to  the  Roman  see  the  pure  unquestionable  or- 
thodox faith.  In  that  and  kindred  controver- 
sies it  was  Milton's  belief  that  unlicensed,  un- 
restricted printing  would  be  a  grand  helper, 
and  no  hinderance  to  the  eternal  truth. 

To  the  jealousy  of  a  government,  or  the 
bigotry  of  a  church,  demanding  an  enslaved 
press,  he  replies,  that  "a  state  governed  by 
the  rules  of  justice  and  fortitude,  or  a  church 
built  upon  the  rock  of  f\iith  and  true  know- 
ledge, cannot  be  so  pusillanimous"  as  to  dread 
the  utmost  liberty  of  criticism. 

Yet  it  was  not  the  licentiousness  of  the  press 
for  which  Milton  pleaded.  He  was  willing 
that  it  should  be  as  free  as  the  air,  or  the  light 
of  heaven,  to  pour  its  good  and  evil  alike  into 
the  world ;  but  he  would  hold  the  writers  to  a 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  129 

proper  responsibility  to  the  laws,  not  to  vomit 
slander  through  the  press,  nor  to  infringe  the 
fundamental  precepts  of  morals  and  good  order. 
That  is,  publishers  were  not  to  be  allowed  to 
violate  the  innocent  peace  of  society,  or  of  in- 
dividuals ;  to  permit  that  were  not  liberty,  but 
flagitious  licentiousness. 

"I  deny  not,"  says  the  great  champion  of 
regulated  liberty,  "but  that  it  is  of  great  con- 
cernment to  the  church  and  commonwealth  to 
have  a  vigilant  qjq  how  hooks  bemean  them- 
selves as  well  as  men ;  and  therefore  to  confine, 
imprison,  and  do  sharpest  justice  on  them  as 
malefactors ;  for  books  are  not  absolutel}^  dead 
things,  but  do  contain  a  potency  of  life  in  them 
to  be  as  active  as  that  soul  was  whose  progeny 
they  are ;  nay,  they  do  preserve,  as  in  a  vial, 
the  honest  efficacy  and  extraction  of  that  living 
intellect  that  bred  them.  I  know  they  are  as 
lively,  and  as  vigorously  productive  as  those 
fabulous  dragon's  teeth;  and,  being  sown  up 
and  down,  may  chance  to  spring  up  armed  men. 
And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  unless  wariness 
be  used,  as  good  almost  kill  a  man  as  kill  a 
good  book :  who  kills  a  man  kills  a  reasonable 

6* 


130  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

creature,  God's  image ;  but  he  who  destroys  a 
good  book,  kills  reason  itself,  kills  the  image 
of  God,  as  it  were,  in  the  eve.  Many  a  man 
lives  a  burden  to  the  earth ;  but  a  good  book 
is  the  precious  lifcblood  of  a  master-spirit  em- 
balmed and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a  life 
beyond  life.  'T  is  true,  no  age  can  restore  a 
life,  whereof  perhaps  there  is  no  great  loss; 
and  revolutions  of  ages  do  not  oft  recover  the 
loss  of  a  rejected  truth,  for  the  want  of  which 
whole  nations  fare  the  worse.  We  should  be 
wary,  therefore,  what  persecution  we  raise 
against  the  living  labors  of  public  men — how 
we  spill  that  seasoned  life  of  man  pfeserved 
and  stored  up  in  books ;  since  we  see  a  kind 
of  homicide  may  be  thus  committed,  sometimes 
a  martyrdom,  and  if  it  extend  to  the  whole  im- 
pression, a  kind  of  massacre,  whereof  the  exe- 
cution ends  not  in  the  slaying  of  an  elemental 
life,  but  strikes  at  that  etherial  and  fifth  essence, 
the  breath  of  reason  itself,  and  slays  an  immor- 
tality rather  than  a  life." 

Milton  did  not  fear  the  most  convulsing 
agitation :  he  saw,  in  what  some  thought  chaos, 
nothing  but  an  unchained  people  "casting  off 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  131 

the  old  and  wrinkled  skin  of  corruption,  wax- 
ing young  again,  entering  the  glorious  ways  of 
truth  and  prosperous  virtue,  and  destined  to 
become  great  and  honorable  in  these  latter 
days."  Here  occurs  this  burst  of  sublime  and 
unrivalled  eloquence 

"Methinks  I  see  in  my  mind  a  noble  and 
puissant  nation  rousing  herself,  like  the  strong- 
man after  sleep,  and  shaking  her  invincible 
locks:  methinks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle,  mewing 
her  mighty  3'outh,  and  kindling  her  undazzled 
eyes  at  the  full  midday  beam ;  purging  and 
unsealing  her  long  abused  sight  at  the  fountain 
itself  of  heavenly  radiance,  while  the  whole 
brood  of  timorous  and  flocking  birds,  with  those 
also  that  love  the  twilight,  flutter  about,  amaz- 
ed at  what  she  means." 

What  he  says  concerning  the  inconsisten- 
cy of  the  Parliament  in  its  treatment  of  the 
license  question,  is  keen  and  just:  "Who  can- 
not discern  the  fineness  of  this  politic  drift, 
and  who  are  its  contrivers  ?  that  while  the 
bishops  were  to  be  baited  down,  then  all 
presses  might  be  open:  it  was  the  people's 
birthright  and  privilege  in  time  of  Parliament; 


132  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

it  was  the  breaking  forth  of  light.  But  now, 
the  bishops  abrogated  and  voided  out  of  the 
church,  as  if  our  reformation  sought  no  more 
but  to  make  room  for  others  into  their  seats 
under  another  name,  the  episcopal  arts  begin 
to  bud  again;  the  cruse  of  truth  must  run  no 
more  oil ;  liberty  of  printing  must  be  inthrall- 
ed  under  a  prelatical  commission  of  twenty  ;* 
the  privilege  of  the  people  nullified,  and  which 
is  worse,  the  freedom  of  learning  must  groan 
again,  and  to  her  old  fetters."t 

This  entire  "Plea"  of  Milton's  is  a  model 
of  style,  impressive  dignity,  and  persuasive 
eloquence.  la  sublimity  of  thought  and  ele- 
vation of  sentiment,  it  is  unique  and  unrivalled 
in  English  letters.  Some  of  the  sentences  are 
stiff  with  splendor,  while  its  frequent  figura- 
tiveness  renders  it  what  Burke  fitly  calls  it, 
"the  most  magnificent  of  prose  poems." 

Notwithstanding  its  splendor,  cogency,  and 
unanswerable  logic,  the  Parliament  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  Milton's  address,  and  remained  in- 
exorably determined  to  preserve  the  license 

•  In  allusion  to  a  then  recent  act  of  Parliament,  placing  the 
license  under  charge  of  such  a  commission. 
\  Works,  Vol.  L,  p.  315. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  133 

gags,  and  to  muzzle  the  press.  Nor  was  it 
until  the  year  1694  that  the  license  was  defi- 
nitely abolished,  and  the  press,  shaking  off  its 
locks  and  shackles,  became  really  free  in  Eng- 
land.* 

*  Blackstoue's  Commentaries,  11th  ed.,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  152. 


134  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER    IX. 

At  Whitsuntide,  iu  1643,  he  being  then 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  Milton  married  Mar}-, 
a  daughter  of  Mr.  Powell,  a  justice  of  the  peace 
in  Oxfordshire,  and  a  gentleman  of  property 
and  position.  After  spending  the  honeymoon 
among  his  bride's  relatives,  Milton  brought 
her  to  town  with  him,  in  the  expectation  of 
living  comfortably  and  happily  with  her.  His 
bright  hopes  were,  however,  speedily  blasted, 
and  his  wife  held  to  his  lips  a  goblet  of  morti- 
fication which  he  was  obliged  to  drain  to  the 
very  dregs. 

Many  circumstances  combined  to  render 
this  match  exceedingly  unequal  and  ill-advis- 
ed; it  certainly  proves  that  the  wisest  of  men 
are  at  times  the  most  foolish.  The  Powells 
were  stanchly  cavalier  in  their  politics;  Miss 
Powell  had  been  reared  in  the  gay,  frivolous 
circles  of  the  "love-locked"  gentry  of  that 
loose  epoch,  was  used  to  much  company,  mer- 
riment,  and  dancing,   held  her  austere  hus- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  135 

band's  democratic  principles  in  utter  contempt, 
and  was  not  fitted  either  by  nature  or  training 
to  sympatliize  with  his  magnificent  projects, 
and  studious,  philosophical  pursuits. 

To  a  lady  thus  bred,  nothing  could  be 
more  odiously  uninviting  than  the  solitary 
study  of  a  recluse  scholar,  where  no  company 
whose  tastes  Avere  similar  to  hers  ever  came, 
where  spare  diet  and  a  house  full  of  pupils 
constantly  galled  one  who  had  been  spoiled, 
petted,  and  lapped  in  luxury.  Sighing  for  the 
old  life  of  mirth  and  joviality,  she  urged  Mil- 
ton, after  passing  some  few  weeks  with  him  in 
London,  to  permit  her  to  visit  her  friends  in 
Oxfordshire  for  a  while;  with  which  request 
her  husband  complied,  only  stipulating  that 
she  should  return  to  him  at  Michaelmas. 

This  visit  was  in  fact  only  a  pretence  for 
conjugal  desertion.*  Philips,  Milton's  nephew, 
at  the  time  a  pupil  in  his  uncle's  house,  tells 
us  that  her  relations  "being  generg,lly  addicted 
to  the  cavalier  party,  and  some  of  them  possi- 
bly  engaged  in  the  king's  service,  (who  by  this 
time  had  his  head-quarters  at  Oxford,  and  was 

*  Todd's  Life  of  Milton,  p.  48. 


136  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

in  some  prospect  of  success,)  they  began  to 
repent  them  of  having  matched  the  eldest 
daughter  of  the  family  to  a  person  so  contrary 
to  them  in  opinion;  and  thought  it  would  be 
a  blot  in  their  escutcheon,  whenever  that  court 
should  come  to  flourish  again." 

However  this  may  be,  certain  it  is  that  she 
did  not  make  her  appearance  at  the  appointed 
time,  and  that  she  yielded  no  obedience  to  her 
husband's  repeated  requests  that  she  should 
resume  her  place  at  his  side.  "  After  receiv- 
ing several  of  his  letters  without  sending  him 
any  answer,"  saj^s  Tolland,  "  she  did  at  length 
positively  refuse  to  come,  dismissing  his 'mes- 
senger with  contempt." 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  what  the  result 
of  such  keenly  insulting  conduct  would  be  upon 
a  man  of  John  Milton's  high,  proud,  and  hon- 
orable spirit.  Exasperated  beyond  measure, 
he  resolved  to  repudiate  his  wife ;  and  in  de- 
fence of  this,  resolution,  he  published  his  four 
celebrated  treatises  on  divorce,  the  two  first 
in  1644,  the  others  in  1645. 

The  first  pamphlet  on  this  subject  was 
called  the  ''Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce" 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  137 

and  was  dedicated  to  the  Parliament  and  the 
Assembly  of  Divines  at  Westminster.  This 
provoked  much  comment ;  and  several  answers 
to  it  being  penned  by  his  opponents,  Milton 
shortly  after,  in  order  to  show  that  he  did  not 
stand  alone  in  his  opinion,  published  his  sec- 
ond tract,  "  The  judgment  of  the  Famous  Re- 
former Martin  Bucer^  Touching  Divorce,^''  in 
which  he  proved  that  that  worthy  exactly 
agreed  with  him. 

In  response  to  an  elaborate  attack  upon  his 
theory  in  1645,  Milton  published  another  tract 
in  its  defence:  ^^ Tetrarchordon;  or,  depositions 
ujjoji  the  Four  Chief  Places  of  Scripture  which 
treat  of  Marriage  or  JSfidlities  in  Marriage^ 
Some  months  later,  being  provoked  thereto  by 
continued  denunciation  and  misrepresentation, 
he  issued  the  "  Colasterion"  in  which  he  closed 
the  controversy. 

It  is  not  within  the  purview  of  this  Life  to 
speak  at  any  length  or  with  any  oracularness 
upon  the  momentous  question  of  divorce.  Per- 
haps however  it  is  but  fair  to  state  that  Mil- 
ton's design  in  the  pamphlet  he  wrote  upon 
the  subject  was,  to  show  that  there  may  be 


138  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

other  and  sufficient  reasons  for  divorce  besides 
adulter}',  and  that  to  i)rohibit  any  sort  of 
divorce  but  such  as  are  accepted  by  Moses  is 
unjust,  and  against  the  reason  of  the  law. 

These  innovations  brought  upon  Milton's 
head  a  storm  of  ridicule  and  denunciation  at 
the  time.  The  wits  of  the  court  and  the  thun- 
ders of  the  pulpit  united  their  terrors  to  affright 
and  daunt  him.  He  was  even  summoned  be- 
fore the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords ;  but  he  was 
quickly  dismissed,  and  all  efforts  to  excite  the 
Lords  and  Commons  of  the  Parliament  against 
him  signally  failed.  Perhaps  they  foresaw  the 
time  when  they  should  require  him  to  wield 
his  might}"  pen  in  their  defence,  and  thus  were 
cautious  not  to  treat  with  harshness  one  be- 
neath the  fegis  of  whose  glittering  rhetoric 
they  might  be  driven  to  hide. 

Whether  the  Parliament  accepted  his  the- 
ories or  not,  his  writings  gave  birth  to  a  sect 
called  Miltonists,  who  did  indorse  him. 

Dr.  Symmons,  a  clergj-man  of  the  Estab- 
lished church  in  England,  and  one  of  Milton's 
ablest  biographers,  thinks  that  he  "has  made 
out  a  strong  case,  and  fights  with  arguments 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  130 

not  easily  to  be  repelled."*  And  Mr.  Godwin 
says,  "The  books  on  divorce  are  written  with 
the  most  entire  knowledge  of  the  snbject,  and 
with  a  clearness  and  strength  of  argnment  that 
it  would  be  difficult  to  excel."  Selden  also,  one 
of  the  profoundest  lawyers  in  English  jurispru- 
dence, fully  indorsed  Milton's  principles,  writ- 
ing his  ''Uxor  Hebraica^^  on  that  side  of  the 
question;  while  in  America  a  number  of  the 
states  have  enacted  analogous  precepts  into  law. 
This  proves  that  those  critics  who  charge 
that  Milton  wrote  the  divorce  pamphlets  has- 
tily and  ignorantly,  in  order  to  vent  his  spite, 
falsify  the  record.  The  pamphlets  breathe,  in 
the  main,  making  fair  deductions  on  account 
of  the  heated  controversial  period  in  which 
they  were  written — an  age  when  polemical 
writers  were  far  from  nice  in  their  choice 
and  bestowal  of  epithets — a  pure  and  Chris- 
tian spirit,  and  show  their  author's  desire  and 
effort  to  lean  prayerfully  and  unhesitatingly 
upon  the  Scriptures.  If  he  erred,  it  was  not 
intentionally,  or  because  he  did  not  seek  the 
truth. 

*  Symmons'  Life  of  Milton,  p.  202. 


140  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

The  lesson  which  may  safely  be  drawn 
from  this  unhappy  episode  in  Milton's  life  is, 
that  marriage  should  be  based  upon  something 
better  than  mere  fancy,  upon  which  Milton  s 
choice  seems  onh'  to  have  rested;  and  that 
persons  should  not  "marry  in  haste,"  if  they 
do  not  wish  "  to  repent  at  leisure.'' 

About  this  time  Milton's  little  academy 
was  reinforced  by  the  arrival  of  several  new 
pupils  whom  he  had  consented  to  receive  into 
his  family.  His  father  also,  upon  the  cnpture 
of  Reading  by  the  Earl  of  Essex  in  1643, 
left  his  son  Christopher,  with  whom  he  had 
been  residing  in  that  town,  and  came  to  form 
part  of  the  establishment  in  Aldersgate- 
street. 

In  conformity  with  his  tenets  on  the  sub- 
ject of  divorce,  and  to  exhibit  his  conscious- 
ness of  freedom,  Milton,  in  1644,  began  to 
address  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  young 
lady,  a  daughter  of  a  Mr.  Davis,  with  a  view 
to  matrimony.  It  has  been  asserted  somewhat 
loosely,  that  Miss  Davis  was  averse  to  the  un- 
ion ;  but  if  she  entertained  any  objections,  they 
were  overcome,  and  the  match  would  have 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  141 

taken  place  but  for  the  occurrence  of  a  some- 
what remarkable  circumstance. 

The  desperate  situation  of  the  king's  cause 
in  1644,  caused  by  the  utter  rout  of  the  royal 
array  at  Naseby,  made  the  family  of  Milton's 
wife  reluctantly  sensible  of  the  folly  of  their 
conduct  in  alienating  a  man  so  powerful  with 
the  Parliament,  and  selfishly  anxious  to  pro- 
pitiate his  resentment.  They  foresaw  that  his 
active  countenance  would  soon  be  necessary 
for  their  protection,  and  possibly  for  their  ac- 
tual subsistence.  "With  no  resemblance  to 
the  elevated  equanimity  of  the  man  who  had 
honored  them  with  his  alliance,  they  rose  or 
fell,  like  the  mob  of  their  species,  with  the  flow 
or  the  ebb  of  fortune,  and  were  insolent  or 
abject  as  their  unstable  power  visited  or  de- 
serted them."  They  therefore  determined  to 
effect  a  reconciliation  between  Milton  and  his 
wife. 

"Their  plan,"  says  Dr.  Symmons,  "was 
conceived  and  executed  with  successful  inge- 
nuity." When  on  a  visit  to  a  relative  in  the 
lane  of  St.  Martin's-le-grand,  he  was  surprised 
to  see  his  wife  come  from  another  room  and 


142  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

bog  forgiveness  on  her  knees.  Fenton  re- 
marks,* "  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  but  an  inter- 
view of  that  nature,  so  little  expected,  must 
wonderfully  affect  him ;  and  perhaps  the  im- 
pression it  made  upon  his  imagination  contrib- 
uted much  to  the  painting  of  that  pathetic 
scene  in  'Paradise  Lost,''  in  which  Eve  address- 
es herself  to  Adam  for  pardon  and  peace.  At 
the  intercession  of  his  friends  who  were  pres- 
ent, after  a  short  reluctance,  he  generously 
sacrificed  all  his  resentment  to  her  tears : 

"Soon  liis  heart  relented 

Toward  her,  his  Ufe  so  hxte,  and  sole  delight, 
Now  at  his  feet  submissive  in  distress." 

Such  was  Milton's  generous  and  Christian 
spirit,  that,  banishing  all  remembrance  of  his 
wife's  ill-conduct,  and  also  of  her  family's  prov- 
ocation, he  received  them  all  into  his  own 
house,  where  he  freely  entertained  and  pro- 
tected them  until  their  affairs  were  accommo- 
dated by  his  interest  with  the  victorious  Puri- 
tans. His  wife  continued  to  reside  with  him 
happily  and  affectionately  until  her  death  some 
years  later. 

*  Li  the  preface  to  his  edition  of  ''Paradise  Lost,"  first  pub- 
lished in  London,  in  1725. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  .         U3 

At  the  time  of  Milton's  reconciliation  with 
his  wife,  the  enlargement  of  his  family  had 
obliged  him  to  change  his  residence  to  a  more 
commodious  mansion  in  Barbican,  whither  he 
now  transported  his  household. 

"  When  it  is  considered  that  Milton  cheer- 
fully opened  his  doors  to  those  who  had  treat- 
ed him  with  indignity  and  breach  of  faith:  to  a 
father  who,  according  to  the  poet's  nuncupative 
will,  never  paid  him  the  promised  marriage 
portion  of  a  thousand  pounds ;  and  to  a  mother 
who,  according  to  Wood,  had  encouraged  the 
daughter  in  her  perverseness,  we  cannot  but 
accede  to  Mr.  Hayley's  conclusion,  that  the 
records  of  private  life  exhibit  not  a  more  mag- 
nanimous example  of  forgiveness  and  benefi- 
cence.""^' 

Notwithstanding  these  domestic  embarrass- 
ments, and  the  engrossing  interest  of  the  civil 
war,  then  rising  to  its  triumphant  climax,  Mil- 
ton did  not  permit  his  attention  to  be  wholl} 
diverted  from  other  important  considerations. 
He  published  during  this  period,  in  addition  to 
the  "Plea  for  Unlicensed  Printing,"  and  the 

♦  Todd's  Life  of  Milton,  p.  58. 


144  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

pamphlets  on  divorce,  his  elaborate  "  Treatise 
on  Education"  and  several  sonnets.  His  lei- 
sure hours  he  filled  u})  pleasantl}^  either  in 
visiting  his  friends,  and  especially  one  lady, 
a  daughter  oi"  the  Earl  of  Marlborough,  who 
was  possessed  of  rare  talents,  and  to  whom,  as 
to  her  husband.  Captain  Hobson,  an  accom- 
plished gentleman,  his  compan}''  was  peculiar- 
ly acceptable;  or  in  collecting  and  correcting 
his  early  poems,  both  Latin  and  English,  an 
edition  of  which  was  first  published  under  the 
auspices  of  Humphrey  Moseley,  the  general 
publisher  of  the  poets  of  that  epoch,  in  1645. 

Mosely  says,  in  his  "Address  to  the  Read- 
er," "The  author's  more  peculiar  excellence  in 
these  studies  was  too  well  known  to  conceal 
his  papers,  or  to  keep  me  from  attempting  to 
solicit  them  from  him.  Let  the  event  guide 
itself  which  way  it  will,  I  shall  deserve  of  the 
age,  bv  brino-ino;  into  the  lio-ht  as  true  a  birth 
as  the  muses  have  brought  forth  since  our 
famous  Spenser  wrote ;  whose  poems  in  these 
English  ones  are  as  rarely  imitated,  as  sweetly 
excelled." 

Moseley's  discernment  did  indeed  "deserve 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  145 

of  the  age,"  and  though  these  poems  did  not 
win  much  applause  on  their  first  appearance,  it 
is  only  another  proof  that  great  works  in  liter- 
ature are  seldom  appreciated  b}'  the  genera- 
tion which  witnesses  their  birth.  Bunyan's 
immortal  writings  were  long  treated  with  the 
shabbiest  neglect. 

In  1G47,  Milton  again  removed  his  resi- 
dence, taking  a  smaller  house  in  Holborn ;  the 
Powells  having  left  him,  he  no  longer  required 
so  much  room  as  was  contained  in  the  spa- 
cious Barbican  dwelling.  Philips  tells  us  that 
"he  is  much  mistaken,  if  there  was  not  about 
this  time  a  design  of  making  him  an  adjutant- 
general  in  William  Waller's  array.  But  the 
new  modelling  of  the  army  proved  an  obstruc- 
tion to  the  design." 

It  was  in  this  year  that  Milton's  father 
died,  ending  happily  and  peacefully  a  long 
and  useful  life,  whose  declining  days  had  been 
soothed  by  every  attention  possible  to  be  paid 
him  by  an  affectionate,  grateful,  and  pious  son. 

]\Iilton  still  continued  to  instruct  a  few 
pupils;  but  for  a  number  of  months  his  busy 
pen  had  rest. 


U6  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Milton's  wife  had,  a  year  or  two  after  the 
reconciliation,  presented  him  with  a  daughter, 
whom  he  named  Anne,  after  his  sister.  This 
child  was  born  lame,  or  became  so  in  early 
youth  from  some  accident.  In  October  of  1 648, 
his  second  daughter  was  born,  receiving  her 
mother's  name,  Mary. 

It  was  while  residing  in  Ilolborn,  in  this 
quiet  and  domestic  manner,  that  the  Parlia- 
ment appointed  Milton  to  the  Latin  secretary- 
ship of  state.  This  at  once  changed  his  mode 
of  life,  and  introduced  him  to  the  busiest  scene 
of  his  checkered  career. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  147 


CHAPTER    X. 

In  order  fulh'  to  comprehend  the  purpose 
and  significance  of  Milton's  state  appointment, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  cast  a  retrospective 
glance  at  the  progress  and  scope  of  the  civil 
war  from  that  incipient  stage  up  to  which  we 
have  already  traced  it,  to  the  unhappy  and 
ghastly  death  of  Charles  upon  the  scaffold. 

The  war,  which,  from  the  battle  of  Edge- 
hill,  had  somewhat  dragged,  success  alternate- 
ly perching  upon  the  eagles  of  the  king  and 
upon  the  Puritan  standard,  was  in  1645  prose- 
cuted with  new  and  Titanic  energy,  owing  to 
the  displacement  of  the  honest  but  inefficient 
Parliamentary  generals  Essex  and  Fairfax, 
and  the  appointment  of  Oliver  Cromwell  to  the 
supreme  command  of  the  Puritan  array.  From 
this  period  hope,  which  had  twinkled  in  the 
political  horizon,  was  quenched  for  the  king. 
The  cohorts  of  the  Parliament,  officered  by  the 
soldierly  genius  of  Cromwell,  one  of  the  great- 


148  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

est  captains  of  all  time,  inarched  forward  to 
assured  success,  achieving  a  series  of  brilliant 
victories,  which  speedily  gave  the  royal  cause 
its  coup  de  grace. 

The  rout  at  Long  Marston  Moor  in  1644 
had  sadly  broken  the  spirit  of  the  Cavaliers. 
The  relentless  and  irresistible  charge  of  Crom- 
well's "Ironsides"  in  the  following  year,  at 
Naseby,  completed  the  demoralization,  and 
hopelessly  scattered  the  adherents  of  the  king. 

Charles,  after  a  hazardous  and  checkered 
existence  of  several  months  from  the  fajal 
battle  of  Naseby,  finally  determined  to  throw 
himself  upon  the  clemency  of  the  Scotch  Puri- 
tans; and  he  accordingly  repaired,  in  1646,  to 
their  camp  before  Newark.  Though  they 
received  him  with  everj''  outward  appearance 
of  respect,  the  Scottish  generals  in  reality 
made  the  monarch  a  captive,  while  they  fell 
upon  the  consideration  of  the  proper  course  to 
pursue  towards  him. 

The  Parliament,  immediately  upon  learn- 
ing the  whereabouts  of  their  runawa}'  king, 
formally  demanded  his  rendition  to  them  by 
Scotland,  on  the  ground  that,  though  he  was 


or  JOHN  MILTON:  149 

certainly  king  both  of  Scotland  and  England, 
still,  being  in  England,  he  was  comprehended 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  that  kingdom/^' 
After  considerable  discussion,  not  without 
having  incurred  the  suspicion  of  bribery,f  the 
Scots  handed  Charles  over  to  the  Parliament. 
By  them  he  was  conducted  to  Holmby  House 
in  Northamptonshire,  where  he  resided  in  easy 
confinement  until  his  seizure  by  the  army  sev- 
eral months  later,  when  he  was  removed  to 
Hampton  Court. 

While  the  king  was  at  Hampton,  several 
events  occurred  which  might  have  reseated 
him  upon  the  throne,  had  he  possessed  the 
slightest  political  honesty  or  sagacity. 

The  Puritans  were  at  this  crisis  divided 
into  two  ecclesiastical  parties — the  "Presby- 
terians," a  sect  of  Scotch  extraction,  and  the 
"  Independents,"  a  new-born  organization,  but 
very  powerful,  and  strongly  opposed  to  the 
Presbyterian  policy.  The  Presbyterians  hav- 
ing gotten  the  Parliament  under  their  control, 
proceeded  to  abridge  both  civil  and  religious 
liberty  to   an  almost  unprecedented   extent, 

*  Hume's  ffist.  of  Eng.,  Vol.  Vn.,  p.  75.  f  Iljic^->  P-  77. 


150  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

going  certainly  much  further  in  the  direction 
of  arbitrary  dictation  than  the  prelates  them- 
selves had  ventured  to  go.  Milton  had  all 
along  denounced  their  usurpations  in  the  bold- 
est and  most  eloquently  emphatic  manner; 
and  now  behind  him  the  Independents  ranged 
themselves  as  the  opponents  of  intolerance. 
They  differed  also  from  the  Presbyterians  in 
their  notions  of  church  government,  approach- 
ing very  closel}'  to  modern  Congregational- 
ism. 

Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  other  noted  leaders 
of  the  army  were  decided  Independents.  Dis- 
covering that  the  event  might  prove  that  they 
had  lavished  their  blood  only  to  substitute  one 
tyranny  for  another,  they  instantl}^  decided  to 
endeavor  to  win  the  king  to  proclaim  amnesty, 
civil  libert}^,  and  toleration,  as  the  price  of 
reinstatement  in  his  royalties  ;*  or,  that  fail- 
ing, to  crush  Charles,  oust  the  Parliament,  and 
establish  a  free  commonwealth  upon  the  basis 
of  justice  and  impartial  liberty. 

After  several  interviews  with  their  royal 
captive  at   Hampton   Court,   his  haughtiness 

*  Symmons'  Life  of  Miltou,  p.  213. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  161 

and  duplicity  disgusted  them ;  and  discovering 
by  his  secret  correspondence  with  the  queen 
that  no  reliance  could  be  placed  upon  his  good 
faith,  they  determined  to  unite  with  the  Par- 
liament in  bringing  him  to  speedy  trial  and 
execution,  perceiving  that  thus  one,  and  the 
chief,  obstacle  to  peace  and  liberty  would  be 
removed.  Charles  meantime  had  fled,  upon 
the  withdrawal  of  the  protection  of  the  army, 
from  Hampton  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  seeking 
there  an  asylum,  but  fiudinga  close  and  rigor- 
ous prison. 

But  the  Parliament  having  obtained  some 
inkling  of  the  Independent  plot  to  effect  their 
displacement  from  power,  in  their  turn  en- 
deavored to  negotiate  a  treaty  with  the  king, 
which  should  place  him  at  their  head,  and 
repossess  him  of  a  large  part  at  least  of  what 
had  been  ravished  from  him  by  the  victorious 
arms  of  the  Commonwealth. 

But  the  monarch's  fatal  obstinacy  and  sin- 
gular opinion  of  his  great  importance,  which 
could  lead  him  to  say,  as  Rushworth  records, 
that  it  was  in  his  power  to  turn  the  scale,  and 
that  that  party  must  sink  which  he  abandon- 


152  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

cd — be  the  detlironed  king  of  an  annibilated 
faction! — led  him  to  repel  all  overtures  with 
the  remark,  "I  shall  see  you  glad  ere  long  to 
accept  more  equal  terras.  You  cannot  do 
without  me.  You  will  fall  to  ruin  if  I  do  not 
sustain  you.'"'^' 

While  negotiations  were  still  pending  be- 
tween Parliament  and  the  king,  the  array 
returned  flushed  with  victory  from  several 
expeditions  which  had  completely  subdued  all 
their  enemies.  Immediately,  at  Cromwell's 
suggestion,  a  remonstrance  to  the  Parliament 
was  drawn  up,  and  signed  by  the  council  of 
general  officers,  demanding  its  dissolution,  cotn- 
plaining  of  its  usurpations,  accusing  it  of  trea- 
son to  liberty  and  of  riveting  the  old  chains 
still  tighter ;  requiring  a  more  equal  represen- 
tation; and  asserting  that,  though  servants, 
they  were  entitled  to  represent  these  impor- 
tant points  to  their  masters,  who  were  them- 
selves no  better  than  the  servants  or  trustees 
of  the  people.f  At  the  same  time  Cromwell's 
strategy  insured  the  seizure  of  the  king,  and 
his  strict  confinement  near  the  capital. 

•  Rushworth.  f  Hume's  Hist,  of  Eng.,  Vol.  ^T;I.,  p.  127 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  153 

Parliament  met  the  menaced  danger  brave- 
ly, and  declined  to  comply  with  the  remon- 
strance of  the  army.  Accordingly  on  the  6th 
of  December,  1647-8,  the  military  entered  the 
chamber  of  the  Parliament,  forcibly  ejected 
one  hundred  and  sixt}^  members,  constitnting 
the  bulk  of  the  Presbyterian  strength,  and 
leaving  fifty  or  sixty  Independents  to  carr}^ 
on  the  government:  thus,  to  use  the  phrase  of 
the  time,  "purged  the  house." 

Before  this  "rump"  Parliament,  Charles 
was  summoned,  tried,  and  sentenced  to  death ; 
which  sentence  was  carried  into  execution  on 
the  30th  of  Januar}",  1648-9.  Thus  perished 
this  unhappy  prince,  whose  obstinacy,  duplic- 
ity, and  despotism  hurried  him  to  an  untime- 
ly and  bloody  grave. 

Upon  the  death  of  Charles,  a  representa- 
tive government,  springing  directly  from  the 
people,  was  organized  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
throne.  The  "rump"  Parliament,  as  that  por- 
tion of  the  long  Parliament  which  had  survived 
the  recent  violence  of  the  army  soon  came  to 
be  called,  proceeded  to  proclaim  the  Common- 
wealth, and  to  lodge  the  executive  power  in  a 


154  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

council  of  thirty-eight  members  of  the  Com- 
mons, which  received  the  name  of  "The  Coun- 
cil of  State." 

The  men  who  composed  this  council  were 
remarkably  able,  were  endowed  with  singular 
executive  talent,  and  speedily  made  the  new 
Commonwealth  command  the  respect,  and  to 
be  even  the  terror  of  Europe. 

Resolved  on  adopting  the  I^atin  tongue  as 
its  medium  of  intercourse  with  foreign  nations, 
the  Council  decreed  the  appointment  of  a  Latin 
secretary.  The  learning,  talents,  piety,  repub- 
licanism, and  brilliant  rhetorical  reputation  of 
Milton,  at  once  suggested  him  to  the  Council, 
and  secured  his  appointment,  without  a  suspi- 
cion on  his  part  of  being  invited  to  enter  into 
the  service  of  the  state. 

Though  his  tastes  and  inclination  dictated 
the  continuance  of  his  more  retired  literary 
life  and  pursuits,  yet  Milton  was  a  man  who 
never  permitted  his  predispositions  to  deter 
him  from  duty.  Influenced  by  that  patriotism 
which  had  alwaj^s  been  a  passion  with  him,  he 
cheerfully  surrendered  his  private  pursuits  at 
its  imperious  command,  that  he  might  do  his 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  155 

part  towards  strengthening  and  perfecting  the 
nascent  Commonwealth. 

That  Milton  did  not  regret  the  overthrow 
of  the  Presbj^terians,  is  proved  conclusively 
by  his  own  writings  at  the  time,  and  especially 
by  a  satirical  sonnet  about  the  time  of  their 
downfall,  in  which  he  says, 

"New  Freshyter  is  but  old  Priest  writ  large." 

During  the  transactions  which  preceded 
the  death  of  the  king  and  the  establishment  of 
the  Commonwealth,  Milton  had  remained  quiet- 
ly domesticated  at  Holborn,  a  passive  specta- 
tor of  the  tragedy  about  to  be  enacted ;  his 
pen  resting  from  controversy,  and  employed 
in  the  composition  of  a  history  of  England, 
only  six  books  of  which  were  ever  finished. 
These  carry  the  story  only  to  the  battle  of 
Hastings,  leaving  it  at  the  most  interesting 
period;  but  they  are  written  accurately,  mi- 
nutely, and  often  eloquently. 

Milton  himself  declared,  at  a  subsequent 
period,  when  his  party  was  firmly  seated  in 
power,  when  he  had  no  reason  to  suppress  the 
truth,  but  when,  on  the  contrary,  it  would  have 
redounded  to  his  political  advantage  to  have 


150  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

asserted  his  active  participation  in  the  execu- 
tion of  the  king,  that  he  had  not  been  accesso- 
r}^  to  the  fate  of  Charles. 

"Neither  did  I  write  any  thing,"  he  says, 
"respecting  the  regal  authorit}',  till  the  king, 
proclaimed  an  enemy  by  the  senate,  and  over- 
come in  arras,  was  brought  captive  to  his  trial, 
and  condemned  to  suffer  death.  When  in- 
deed some  of  the  Presbyterian  leaders,  lately 
tlie  most  iuveterately  hostile  to  Charles,  but 
now  irritated  by  the  prevalence  of  the  Inde- 
pendents in  the  nation  and  the  senate,  and 
stung  with  resentment,  not  of  the  fact,  but  of 
their  own  want  of  power  to  commit  it,' ex- 
claimed against  the  sentence  of  the  Parliament 
upon  the  king,  and  raised  what  commotions 
they  could  b}^  daring  to  assert  that  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Protestant  divines,  and  of  all  the 
reformed  churches  was  strong  in  reprobation 
of  this  severity  to  kings,  then  at  length  I  con- 
ceived it  to  be  my  duty  publicly  to  oppose  so 
much  obvious  and  palpable  falsehood.  Nei- 
ther did  I  then  direct  my  argument  personally 
against  Charles,  but,  by  the  testimony  of  many 
of  the  most  eminent  divines,  I  proved  what 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  157 

course  of  conduct  might*  lawfully  be  observed 
towards  tyrants  in  general;  and  with  the  zeal 
almost  of  a  preacher,  I  attacked  the  strange 
ignorance  or  the  wonderful  impudence  of  these 
men,  who  had  lately  amused  us  with  the  prom- 
ise of  better  things.  This  work  was  not  pub- 
lished till  after  the  death  of  the  king ;  and  was 
written  rather  to  tranquillize  the  minds  of  men, 
than  to  discuss  any  part  of  the  question  con- 
cerning Charles,  a  question  the  decision  of 
which  belonged  to  the  magistrate,  and  not  to 
me,  and  which  has  now  received  its  final  de- 
termination." 

From  all  this  it  should  seem  that  the  Pres- 
byterians, filled  with  bitterness  on  account  of 
their  exclusion  from  power,  and  more  anxious 
for  government  and  patronage  than  for  right- 
eousness and  the  establishment  of  liberty,  unit- 
ed their  fierce  clamors  to  swell  the  chorus  of 
the  king's  partisans,  raised  upon  the  execution 
of  the  tyrant  prince. 

Neale,  the  historian  of  the  Puritans,  makes 
this  statement  in  reference  to  the  course  of  the 
government  at  this  troubled  period : 

"The  Parliament  tried  several  methods  to 


158  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

reconcile  the  Presbyterians  to  the  present 
administration.  Persons  were  appointed  to 
assure  them  of  the  protection  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  of  the  full  enjoyment  of  their  eccle- 
siastical preferments,  according  to  law.  When 
this  would  not  do  ...  .  the  famous  Mr.  Milton 
was  appointed  to  write  for  the  government, 
who  rallied  the  seditious  preachers  with  his 
satirical  pen  in  a  most  severe  manner.'* 

The  work  to  which  Neale  refers,  and  which 
Milton  mentions  in  the  extract  just  quoted, 
was  first  published  in  February,  1648-9,  and 
was  entitled,  ''The  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Mag- 
istrates'''' It  is  able,  elaborate,  and  like  every 
thing  from  the  pen  of  its  great  author,  singu- 
larly eloquent.  His  aim  was  to  prove  that  "it 
is  lawful,  and  hath  been  so  through  all  ages, 
for  an}'  who  have  the  power,  to  call  to  account 
a  tyrant  or  wicked  king,  and  after  due  convic- 
tion, to  depose  and  put  him  to  death,  if  the 
ordinary  magistrate  have  neglected  or  denied 

•  From  this  statement  it  would  seem  that  ililton  had  been 
h'lrtd  to  defend  the  government.  This  was  not  true.  "NMiat  he 
WTote  was  a  freewill-offering  to  the  tranquillization  of  the  state. 
His  duties  as  Latin  secretary  did  not  include  any  such  arrange- 
ment 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  159 

to  do  it;  and  that  tlie}^  who  of  late  so  much 
blame  deposing,  are  the  men  that  did  it  them- 
selves." 

In  this  same  year,  Milton's  prolific  pen  pro- 
duced another  pamphlet:  ''Observations  upon 
the  Articles  of  Peace  which  the  Earl  of  Ormond 
has  concluded  at  Kilkenny,  January  17th,  1648—9, 
in  the  King^s  name,  and  hy  His  Authority,  with 
the  Popish  Irish  Rebels"  Esteeming  the  new- 
formed  Commonwealth  to  be  threatened  by 
the  transactions  of  Ormond,  who  headed  the 
disaffected  Scotch  Presbyterians,  and  who  had 
entered  into  a  treaty  with  the  Irish  partisans 
of  Charles,  a  movement  kept  afoot  for  several 
months  after  the  king's  death,  he  wrote  this 
tract  to  avert  the  menaced  danger. 


160  THE  LIFE  AND  TTTVIES 


CHAPTER   XI. 

At  no  period  in  history  has  Great  Britain 
appeared  to  grander  advantage  than  nnder  the 
Commonwealth.  Firm,  able,  yet  tolerant  in 
their  domestic  policy,  inflexibly  just  and  judi- 
cious in  their  dealings  with  foreign  powers,  the 
Council  of  State  speedily  inspired  the  utmost 
respect  and  awe  in  the  breasts  of  the  surround- 
ing nations.  Not  Elizabeth  herself  had  exert- 
ed a  more  potent  influence  in  continental  poli- 
tics. In  consequence  of  the  proud  position  it 
acquired,  the  Commonwealth  was  enabled  on 
several  occasions  to  succor  the  oppressed  of 
other  lands,  and  even  to  dictate  toleration  and 
justice  to  foreign  despots. 

The  influence  of  England  at  this  time  was 
owing  ver}'  largelj^,  without  doubt,  to  the  per- 
sonal character  of  several  of  the  most  prom- 
inent members  of  the  Council  of  State.*     Such 

*  The  foUowiug  is  a  complete  list  of  the  names  of  the  members 
of  the  Council  during  the  first  year  or  two  of  its  establishment : 
President,  John  Bradshaw,  Esq. ;  Earls  Denbigh,  Mulgrave,  Pem- 
broke, and  Salisbury  ;  Lords  Grey,  Fairfax,   and  Lord  Grey  of 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  161 

men  as  the  young'cr  Yaiie'^'  and  stont  John 
Braclshawf  could  not  fail  to  infuse  their  own 

Groby ;  Esquires,  John  Lisle, Rolles,  and  Bulstrocle  White- 

locke  ;  Lieutenant-general  Cromwell ;  Major-general  Skippon ; 
Sirs,  Gilbert  Pickering,  William  Massum,  James  Harrington, 
Henry  Vane,  Jr.,  John  Dan  vers,  William  Arm  ine,  Henry  Mildmay, 
and  William  Constable;  Esquires,  Alexander  Popham,  William 
Puresay,  Isaac  Pennington,  Rowland  Wilson,  Edmund  Liidlow, 
William  Herringham,  Eobert  Wellop,  Henry  Martin,  Anthony 
Stapely,  John  Hutchinson,  Valentine  Walton,  Thomas  Scot,  Den- 
nis Bond,  Luke  Kobinson,  John  Jones,  and  Corneliiis  Holland. 

*  Milton  -wi'ote  the  following  sonnet  on  Sir  Henry  Vane  the 
younger,  a  httle  previous  to  his  appointment  to  the  Foreign  Secre- 
taryship : 

"TO  SIR  HENRY  VANE  THE  YOUNGER. 

"Vane,  young  in  years,  but  in  sage  council  old, 
Than  whom  a  better  senator  ne'er  held 
The  helm  of  Eome,  when  gowns  not  arms  repelled 
The  fierce  Epirot  and  the  Afran  bold  ; 
Whether  to  settle  peace,  or  to  unfold 
The  drift  of  hollow  states,  hard  to  be  spelled, 
Then  to  advise  how  war  may,  best  upheld. 
Move  by  her  two  main  nerves,  iron  and  gold. 
In  all  her  equipage  :  besides,  to  know 
Both  spiritual  power  and  civil,  what  each  means. 
What  severs  each,  thou  'st  learned,  which  few  have  done: 
The  bounds  of  either  sword  to  thee  we  owe  ; 
Therefore  on  thy  firm  hand  religion  leans 
In  peace,  and  reckons  thee  her  eldest  son." 

t  Milton's  opinion  of  John  Bradshaw  was  evinced  at  about  the 
same  time  that  witnessed  the  production  of  the  sonnet  addi-essed 
to  Vane.  As  what  he  says  of  that  famous  regicide  may  be  of  inter- 
est to  some  readers,  it  is  subjoined : 

' '  John  Bradshaw — a  name  which,  in  every  country  where  her 
authority  is  acknowledged,  liberty  herself  has  dedicated  to  immor- 
tal renown — was  descended,  as  is  generally  known,  of  a  noble  fam- 
ily. The  early  part  of  his  life  he  devoted  to  the  study  of  the  laws 
of  his  country ;  and  then  becoming  a  profound  lawyer,  a  most 


162  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

talents  and  virtues  into  the  governmental 
policy. 

eloquent  advocate,  a  zealous  asserter  of  freedom  and  the  people's 
rights,  he  vras  employed  in  the  more  important  affairs  of  the  state, 
and  frequently  discharged,  vnth.  unimpeachable  integrity,  the 
duties  of  a  judge. 

""WTien  at  length  solicited  by  the  Parliament  to  preside  at  tho 
trial  of  the  king,  he  did  not  decline  tliis  most  dangerous  commis- 
sion ;  for  to  the  science  of  the  law  he  had  brought  a  liberal  dispo- 
sition, a  lofty  spirit,  sincere  and  uuoffensive  manners  ;  and  thus 
qualified,  he  supj^orted  that  great  and  beyond  precedent  fearful 
office,  exposed  to  the  threats  and  to  the  daggers  of  innumerable 
assassins,  with  so  much  firmness,  so  much  weight  of  manner,  such 
presence  and  dignity  of  mind,  that  he  seemed  to  have  been  formed 
and  appointed  immediately  by  the  Deity  himself  for  the  perform- 
ance of  that  deed,  which  the  divine  Providence  had  of  old  decreed 
to  be  accomplished  in  this  nation  ;  and  so  far  has  he  exceeded  the 
glory  of  aU  tyrannicides  as  it  is  more  humane,  more  just,  more 
noble  to  try  and  to  pass  legal  sentence  on  a  tyrant,  than  without 
trial  to  put  him  to  death. 

' '  ThoiTgh  in  other  respects  neither  gloomy  nor  severe,  but  gen- 
tle and  placid,  he  yet  sust-^ins  -with  unfaltering  dignity  the  charac- 
ter which  he  has  borne,  and  laniformly  consistent  with  himself,  ho 
appears  like  a  consul  from  whom  the  fasces  are  not  to  depart  with 
the  year ;  so  that  not  on  the  tribunal  only,  but  throughout  his  life, 
you  would  regard  him  as  sitting  in  judgment  upon  kings. 

"Unwearied  and  singly  equal  to  a  multitude  in  his  labors  for 
the  public,  in  domestic  life,  to  the  utmost  stretch  of  his  powers,  he 
is  hospitable  and  splendid ;  the  steadiness  and  adherency  of  his 
friendship  are  not  to  be  affected  by  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  ;  and 
instant  and  eager  to  acknowledge  merit  wherever  it  is  discovered, 
he  is  munificent  to  reward  it.  The  pious,  the  learned,  the  emi- 
nent in  any  wallc  of  genius,  the  soldier,  the  brave  man,  are  either 
relieved  by  his  wealth,  if  in  distress,  or  if  not  indigent,  are  culti- 
vated by  his  attentions  and  cherished  in  his  embrace.  Delighted 
to  dwell  on  the  praises  of  others,  he  studiously  suppresses  his 
own.  So  great  are  his  placability  and  readiness  to  forgive,  that 
they  are  extended,  as  the  experience  of  numbers  hath  ascei-tained, 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  163 

Still,  without  plucking  a  single  laurel  from 
the  brows  of  these  eminent  patriots,  it  cannot 
be  questioned  that  the  transcendent  genius  of 
John  Milton,  the  Latin  Secretary,  set  to  their 
action  the  seal  of  unrivalled  dignit3^  His 
hand  wrote  out,  and  perhaps  his  voice  not 
unfrequently  suggested  the  orders  of  the  Coun- 
cil. During  his  tenure  of  his  Secretaryship, 
which  only  ended  with  the  Restoration,  the 
state  papers  of  Great  Britain  are  models  of 
diplomatic  composition  and  broad  statesman- 
ship. No  wonder  that  the  continental  states, 
long  accustomed  to  the  pedantry  of  James  and 
the  fluctuating  diplomacy  of  Charles,  mar- 
velled at  the  new  regime.     Nor  can  we  feel 

to  any  among  the  enemies  of  himself  and  of  the  state  who,  fi-om  a 
sense  of  theii-  errors,  have  reverted  to  reason.  If  the  cause  of  the 
oppressed  is  openly  to  be  asserted  ;  if  the  influence  and  the  strong 
ai-m  of  the  powerful  are  to  be  controlled  ;  if  the  public  ingratitude 
to  any  meritorious  individual  is  to  be  arraigned,  then  will  no  de- 
ficiency of  eloquence  or  of  fortitude  be  seen  in  this  great  man  ; 
then  will  the  client  possess  in  him  an  advocate  and  a  friend  siiited 
to  all  his  wants  and  adequate  to  his  highest  expectations ;  the 
cause  indeed  ■will  be  in  the  hands  of  a  defender  whom  no  threats 
can  divert  from  the  straight  path,  whom  neither  intimidation  nor 
bribes  can  bend  from  the  uprightness  of  duty,  or  for  an  instant 
deject  from  the  conscious  firmness  of  his  countenance  and  the 
determined  attitude  of  his  mind." 

Such  is  the  portraiture  of  one  of  the  central  figures  of  that 
time,  as  drawn  by  the  pencil  of  another. 


164  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

surprised  that  England  learned  to  blush  under 
the  rotten  morals  and  French  policy  of  the 
Restoration,  and  longed  once  more  to  behold 
the  brave  days  of  the  Comraonweallh,  Avhen 
"the  good  old  cause,"  as  Milton  loved  to  call 
it,  gave  purpose  and  emphasis  to  English 
diplomacy. 

Milton  had  onl}'  been  allowed  sufficient 
time  in  which  to  acquaint  himself  with  the 
routine  of  his  office,  before  he  was  summoned 
by  the  government  to  the  performance  of  a 
peculiar  duty. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  the  king,  a  book 
was  published  under  the  title  of  '' Eikon  Biisil- 
ike;  or,  The  Portraiture  of  His  Sacred  Majesty 
in  his  Solitudes  and  Sufferings,"  with  Charles' 
name  upon  the  title-page  as  the  author.  As 
we  have  seen,  the  death  of  the  king  had  pro- 
duced a  profound  sensation.  Busy  dema- 
gogues,, ecclesiastical  and  lay,  had  exhausted 
the  arts  of  cunning  and  impudent  falsehood  in 
order  to  stir  the  people  to  active  sedition. 
The  unwonted  character  of  the  king's  punish- 
ment made  even  the  liberal  party  anxious 
and  troubled,  while  many  held  it  sacrilegious. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  165 

With  this  feeling  already  abroad,  it  may  easily 
be  conceived  how  great  was  the  effect  of  a  book 
from  the  then  dead  hand  of  a  prince  whom 
many  had  come  to  consider  a  martyr  and  a 
saint,  who  spoke  from  a  bloody  grave,  and 
who  was  represented  as  in  constant  intercourse 
through  prayer  with  his  Creator  while  in  the 
flesh,  urging  before  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts 
the  integrity  of  his  motives,  and  appealing 
from  the  cruelty  and  injustice  of  human  tribu- 
nals to  the  awful  bar  of  heavenly  clemency 
and  justice. 

Had  a  book  of  similar  scope  or  purpose 
been  published  under  the  rule  of  the  bishops, 
or  under  the  Presbyterian  administration,  it 
would  have  been  instantly  suppressed.  But 
the  government  was  at  this  time  made  of 
sterner  stuff.  It  determined  to  meet  argu- 
ment with  argument,  book  with  book. 

Thus  disposed  to  submit  the  merits  of  the 
controversy  to  the  arbitrament  of  the  pen, 
Milton  was  selected  as  the  champion  to  whom 
the  defence  of  the  Commonwealth  was  to  be 
intrusted. 

The  result  was  the  production  of  the  ""Icon- 


166  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

oclastes,^^  or  Image -breaker,  which  was  the 
peculiarly  apposite  name  chosen  by  Milton  as 
the  title  of  his  refutation.  This  pamphlet  is 
one  of  tlie  grandest  and  most  annihilating  of 
his  controversial  writings.  "Pressing  closely 
on  its  antagonist,  and  tracing  him  step  by  step, 
it  either  exposes  the  fallacy  of  his  reasoning, 
or  the  falsehood  of  his  assertions,  or  the  hollow- 
ness  of  his  professions,  or  the  convenient  spe- 
ciousness  of  his  devotion.  In  argument  and 
in  style  compressed  and  energetic,  perspicuous 
and  neat,  it  discovers  a  quickness  which  never 
misses  an  advantage,  and  a  keenness  of  remark 
which  carries  an  irresistible  edge."* 

It  has  been  justl}^  said,  that  no  one  not 
under  the  dominion  of  unthinking  prejudice 
can  read  this  book  without  enforced  conviction. 
It  shows  conclusively  that  Charles,  however 
blameless  may  have  been  his  private  life,  be- 
trayed in  his  public  conduct  the  violence  of 
Eastern  despotism  and  the  shifting  and  equiv- 
ocating morality  of  Loyola  and  the  Jesuits. 

The  Iconoclastes  thus  commences:  "To 
descant  on  the  misfortunes  of  a  person  fallen 

*  Symmons'  Life  of  Milton,  p.  274 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  167 

from  so  liigli  a  dignity,  who  hath  also  paid  his 
final  debt  to  nature  and  his  faults,  is  neither  of 
itself  a  thing  commendable,  nor  the  intention 
of  this  discourse.  Neither  was  it  fond  ambi- 
tion, nor  the  vanity  to  get  a  name,  present  or 
with  posterity,  by  writing  against  a  king.  I 
never  was  so  thirsty  after  fame,  nor  so  desti- 
tute of  other  hopes  and  means  better  and  more 
certain  to  attain  it;  for  kings  have  gained 
glorious  titles  from  their  favorers  by  writ- 
ing against  private  men,  as  Henry  VIII.  did 
against  Luther ;  but  no  man  ever  gained  much 
honor  by  writing  against  a  king,  as  not  usually 
meeting  with  that  force  of  argument  in  such 
courtly  antagonists,  which  to  convince  might 
add  to  his  reputation.''' 

"Kings  most  commonly,  though  strong  in 
legions,  are  but  weak  at  argument;  as  they 
who  ever  have  been  accustomed  from  their  cra- 
dle to  use  their  will  only  as  their  right  hand, 
their  reason  always  as  their  left.  "Whence, 
unexpectedly  constrained  to  that  kind  of  com- 
bat, they  prove  but  weak  and  puny  adversa- 

IVIilton's  liauglity  clisdain  of  his  opponent  is  here  superbly 
expressed. 


1G8  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ries.  Nevertheless  for  tlicir  sakes  who,  through 
custom,  simplicit}',  or  want  of  better  tcaeJiing, 
have  not  more  seriously  considered  kings  than 
in  the  gaudy  name  of  majesty,  and  admire 
them  and  their  doings  as  if  they  breathed  not 
the  same  breath  with  other  mortal  men,  I  shall 
make  no  scruple  to  take  up — for  it  seems  to  be 
the  challenge  of  him  and  all  his  party — this 
gauntlet,  though  the  king's,  in  behalf  of  libert}^ 
and  the  Commonwealth.'"-' 

Of  course  it  is  not  possible,  within  the  lim- 
its of  this  volume,  to  give  the  full  personal 
expressions  of  John  Milton.  All  that  is  in- 
tended is,  to  quote  such  passages  as  are  reqnired 
to  give  a  portraiture  of  the  man,  his  views,  and 
methods  of  expression.  If  what  is  here  writ- 
ten shall  stir  any  admiring  soul  to  study  care- 
fully and  at  length  the  written  books  of  this 
pious,  recondite,  and  altogether  remarkable 
champion  of  religion  and  liberty,  its  object 
will  have  been  fully  achieved.  The  following 
paragraph  from  the  powerful  argument  and 
brilliantly  keen  satire  now  under  considera- 
tion, is  spirited  and  eloquent. 

♦  Prose  Works,  Vol.  n.,  p.  391. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  169 

"But  what  needed  that?  They  knew  his 
chiefest  arms  left  him  w^ere  those  only  which 
the  ancient  Christians  were  w^ont  to  use  against 
their  persecutors,  prayers  and  tears.  Oh  sacred 
reverence  of  God,  respect  and  shame  of  men, 
whither  were  ye  fled  when  these  hypocrisies 
were  uttered?  Was  the  kingdom  then  at  all 
that  cost  of  blood  to  remove'*'  from  him  none 
but  prayers  and  tears?  What  were  those 
thousands  of  blaspheming  cavaliers  about  him 
whose  mouths  let  fly  oaths  and  curses  by  the 
volley;  w^ere  those  the  pra^^ers?  And  those 
carouses,  drunk  to  the  confusion  of  all  things 
good  and  holy;  did  these  minister  the  tears? 
Were  they  prayers  and  tears  which  were  listed 
at  York,  mustered  on  Heworth  Moor,  and  laid 
siege  to  Hull  for  the  guard  of  his  person? 
Were  prayers  and  tears  at  so  high  a  rate  in 
Holland  that  nothing  could  purchase  them  but 
the  crown  jewels?  Yet  the}^  in  Holland — 
such  word  was  sent  us — sold  them  for  guns, 
carbines,  mortar- pieces,  cannons,  and  other 
deadly  instruments  of  war ;  which,  when  they 
came  to  York,  were  all,  no  doubt,  by  the  merit 

*  The  old  form  of  expression  for  move. 


170  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

of  some  great  saint,  suddenly  transformed  into 
prayers  and  tears;  and  being  divided  into 
regiments  and  brigades,  were  the  only  arms 
which  mischieved  ns  in  all  those  battles  and 
encounters.  These  were  his  chief  arms,  what- 
ever we  must  call  them  ;  and  yet  such  arms  as 
they  who  fought  for  the  Commonwealth  have, 
by  the  help  of  better  prayers,  vanquished  and 
brought  to  nothing.'"^ 

It  is  not  singular  that  the  impudent  claim 
made  through  the  king's  book,  that  the  Cava- 
liers were  peculiarly  saint-like  in  their  relig- 
ious feelings,  should  have  called  forth  the  bit- 
ing raillery  of  one  who,  like  Milton,  knew  the 
rotten  and  riotous  character  of  that  side,  and 
the  stern,  unyielding  piety  of  the  other. 

Milton  hinted  his  doubt  on  several  occa- 
sions in  the  course  of  his  pamphlet,  as  to  the 
king's  being  the  author  of  the  "Soliloquies," 
referring  to  it  once  as  the  work  of  "  the  Jioiise- 
hold  rhetorician "  of  Charles.  And  again  he 
says,  "These  petty  conceits  on  the  high  and 
secret  judgment  of  God,  besides  the  boldness 
of  unwarrantable  commenting,   are  so  weak 

•  Prose  Works,  Vol.  11.,  p.  4C9. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON  171 

and  shallow,  and  so  like  the  quibbles  of  a 
court  sermon,  that  we  may  safely  reckon 
them  either  fetched  from  such  a  pattern,  or 
that  the  hand  of  some  household  priest  foisted 
them  in.'"* 

Of  course  at  the  time  these  expressions 
had  no  influence  upon  the  heated  partisans  of 
a  book  which  served  the  interests  and  was  sub- 
servient to  the  ends  of  the  royal  party.  But 
j^ears  later  the  "Soliloquies"  were  publicly 
and  formally  disavowed  as  the  work  of  their 
father  bj^  Charles  II.  and  the  Duke  of  York, 
who  afterwards  reigned  as  James  II.  "  Mihon '' 
is  said  to  have  been  written  b}^  Dr.  Gauden, 
one  of  Charles'  most  intimate  friends,  then 
Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  evidence  tends  irresistibly  to  support 
that  idea.* 

However  this  may  be,  Milton's  pamphlet 
produced  at  the  time  a  decided  sensation. 
First  published  in  1649-50,  it  ran  through 
several  editions,  and  was  esteemed  by  the  gov- 


*  Prose  Works,  Vol.  II.  p.  452. 

\  See  Hume's  remarks  on  this  subject,  Hist,  of  Eng.,  Vol.  VTL 
Also  SjTnmons'  Life,  pp.  284r-294. 


172  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

eminent  and  the  Independent  party  generally 
as  an  exhaustive  and  complete  refutation  of 
the  sophistries  of  the  ''  Eikon  Basilikzr 

About  the  time  perhaps,  or  shortly  after  the 
publication  of  the  ''  Iconodastes,''^  Milton  re- 
moved from  Holborn  to  a  lodging  in  the  house 
of  one  Thompson,  at  Charing-cross,  and  after- 
wards to  apartments  in  Scotland-yard.  Here 
a  third  child,  a  son,  was  born  to  him,  who 
died  however  in  infancy,  on  the  16th  of  March, 
1G50.  In  1052  Milton  once  more  changed  his 
residence,  securing  this  time  a  very  handsome 
house  in  Petty  France,  opening  upon  St.  James 
Park,  and  adjoining  the  mansion  of  Lord 
Scudamore.  Here,  without  further  change,  he 
resided  for  eight  years,  or  until  the  Restoration 
drove  him  to  seek  safety  in  flight  and  obscu- 
rity. Besides  what  property  he  had  inherited 
from  his  father  and  the  income  derived  from 
the  sale  of  his  writings,  Milton  was  at  this  pe- 
riod in  the  receipt  of  an  annual  salary  of  two 
hundred  pounds  from  the  government  as  Latin 
Secretary,  making  in  all  a  very  comfortable 
and  handsome  income. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  173 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Great  as  Miltoirs  English  reputation  now 
was,  it  had  not  yet  become  cosmopolitan. 
Kno^Yn  he  was,  indeed,  to  many  eradite  foreign- 
ers, and  especially  to  the  admiring  academi- 
cians of  Florence,  of  Eome,  and  of  Venice.  His 
genius  and  piety  had  also  won  the  apprecia- 
tive plaudits  of  the  able  professors  of  the  re- 
formed theology  at  Geneva.  Yet  when,  in  the 
brilliant  belles-lettres  circles  of  the  Continent, 
critics  counted  the  famous  scholars  of  the  age, 
and  lauded  the  great  rhetoricians,  the}' did  not 
couple  Milton's  name  with  those  of  Grotius  and 
the  literati. 

An  event  however  now  occurred  which 
speedily  gave  him  a  splendid  European  repu- 
tation, and  not  only  in  the  opinion  of  his  con- 
temporaries, but  in  the  estimation  of  calm  pos- 
terity^, linked  his  name  with  those  of  the  grand- 
est and  most  immortal  writers. 

Charles  Stuart,  the  exiled  son  of  the  re- 
cently executed  monarch,  spurred  thereto  by 


174  THE  LIFK  AND  TIMES 

filial  l>ii'tv  and  :»  nnfiiral  »l(>siiv  to  ki-cp  liis 
nnnio  niul  rt\i::il  <"l;iiiiis  IxMoic*  Kun^no,  dotcr- 
minotl  ti>  iii\(tk(\  in  llu^  (Icft-nco  of  lii.s  liousc 
nnd  fainlinix  cause,  tlio  pen  »>f  some  tncMl  con- 
tinontnl  writer;  hftpinu^  thus,  thouirh  beaten  in 
many  a  stricken  ticld,  to  retrieve  his  sbatteretl 
fortunes  in  the  arena  of  letters.  The  vt)iee  of 
lame  sj^eedily  led  the  exile  to  seleet  Tlaudius 
Salmasius,  thtMi  residing;  at  Levdcn  in  the  ea- 
paeitv  of  honorary  professor  in  tlu^  tniiversity. 
Salniasius  was  descended  from  a  noMe  fam- 
ily, whose  seat  was  n«'ar  lh(>  town  o(  Semar, 
in  the  ancient  pnn'inec  of  l>urguu<ly.  Keceiv- 
ing  from  his  mother  a  strong  bias  towards 
Protestantism  in  early  youth,  ho  became,  a 
little  later,  the  stanch  delender  of  the  reform- 
ed tenets,  and  the  vehement  assailant  of  the 
po]>ish  citadel.  Since  the  death  (»f  the  illus- 
trious younger  Scaliger,  no  scholar  had  accjuir- 
cd  the  re]uitation  of  Salmasius.  Tlu^  author  of 
many  rare  and  imjicrishable  works,  (i  rot  ins 
alone  was  at  that  lime  ranked  as  his  equal. 
Selden  s]>eaks  of  (^rotius  as  "the  greatest,  the 
chief  of  men,^'  and  of  Salmasius  as  "most  ad- 
mirable," whom  he  desired  much  mc^re  tt^  re- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  175 

seruble  than  the  most  eminent  person  for  riches 
and  honor  in  the  world;  and  Cardinal  Riche- 
lien  declared  that  Bignon,  GrotiuH,  and  Salma- 
gius  were  the  only  f>er5on5  of  that  age  whom 
he  looked  njK>n  as  having  arrived  at  the  snm- 
mit  of  learning.*  ''Salma?ias  was  a  man  of 
skill  in  languages,  knowle^jge  of  antiqnity,  and 
sagacity  of  criticism,  almost  exceeding  all  hope 
of  human  attainment ;  and  having  by  excessive 
praises  been  confirmed  in  great  confidence  in 
himself,  thongh  he  probably  had  not  much  con- 
sidered the  principles  of  society  and  the  rights 
of  government,  undertook  the  employment  with- 
out the  distrust  of  his  own  qualifications;  and 
as  his  exfHidition  in  writing  was  wonderful,  in 
1649—50  published  the  'Defensio  Begi/i.'  It  is 
certainly  wonderful  that  Salmasius,  the  pen- 
sioner of  a  republic,  should  write  a  vindication 
of  monarchy. '*f  Perhaps  however  Charles'  re- 
taining fee  of  a  hundred  jacobuses  may  afford 
a  satisfactory  solution  of  the  enigma,  espec- 
ially if  the  haughty  pride  of  the  self-confident 
scholar  at  being  selected  by  a  prince  for  such 
a  service  be  considered. 

•  Mitford'a  Life,  pp.  51.  52.       t  Johnson'a  Life;  of  Miltcai 


170  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

The  appearance  of  the  ''  Defensio  Regia^^ 
created  a  decided  sensation,  though  it  is  said  to 
have  somewhat  disappointed  the  expectations 
of  the  learned.*  Still  it  was  a  formidable 
volume,  both  on  account  of  its  author's  reputa- 
tion and  its  own  intrinsic  merit.  It  abounded 
in  subtle  and  specious  arguments,  clothed  in 
pure  and  perspicuous  language. 

Upon  its  publication  in  England,  the  Council 
of  State  immediately  met  and  unanimousl}"  ap- 
pointed Milton  to  answer  Salmasius  and  defend 
the  Commonwealth.  "  His  compliance  with  the 
honorable  requisition  was  instant;  and,  inatten- 
tive to  the  suggestions  of  his  friends,  who  were 
fearful  of  his  reputation,  committed  against  so 
renowned  an  adversary;  undeterred  by  the 
remonstrance  of  his  physicians,  who  predicted 
that  the  loss  of  his  sight  would  be  the  infallible 
result  of  his  labor;  and  unrestrained  by  the 
dissuasion  of  his  bad  health,  which  allowed  him 
to  compose  only  at  intervals  and  with  hourly 
interruptions,  he  persevered  in  the  duty  which 
he  had  undertaken  ;  and  with  .principle  strong 
within  his  heart,  and  the  attraction  of  glory 

*  Symmons'  Life,  p.  301. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  177 

bright  before  liis  view,  he  produced,  earl}^  in 
the  year  1651,  that  noble  acquittal  of  his  en- 
gagement to  the  Council,  '  The  Defence  of  (lie 
People  of  England.^  ^^'^ 

Both  the  '^DefensioBegia,''''  and  the  ''Defence 
of  the  People,''^  were  written  in  Latin.  It  was 
the  purpose  of  Salmasius  to  support  the  despotic 
dogma  of  the  divine  right  of  kings ;  to  prove 
that  in  the  monarch  resides  naturally  and  of 
right  the  sovereign  power,  and  that  the  king  is 
responsible  for  his  acts  to  God  alone.  Milton, 
taking  the  extreme  republican  ground,  asserted 
with  masterly  and  unanswerable  logic  the  un- 
limited sovereignt}^  of  the  people.  In  compre- 
hensive erudition,  in  profound  political  wisdom, 
in  sublime  poetic  eloquence,  in  noble  Christian 
sentiment,  in  terse  logical  power,  in  biti'ng  sat- 
ire, in  mirth-provoking  wit,  in  all  those  attri- 
butes which  make  a  composition  approximate 
perfection,  Milton's  magnificent  defence  of  the 
Commonwealth  stands  to  this  day  unrivalled. 

Milton  used  every  art  known  to  his  rhetoric 
to  interest  and  attract  all  classes,  knowing  well 
the  importance  in  a  contest  like  that,  as  Boyle 

*  Symmons'  Life,  \)\}.  310,  311. 
8* 


178  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

acutely  observes,  of  "getting  the  laughers  on 
our  side."  The  pointed  personalities,  the  ag- 
gravated censures,  which  now  perhaps  form  the 
chief  blemishes  of  the  "Defence"  as  read  by 
our  sober,  unprejudiced  eyes,  were  then  one  of 
the  causes  of  its  power  and  popularity.  No 
means  of  teasing  his  adversary  was  omitted. 
The  venality  and  accommodating  pliancy  of 
opinion  which  could  enable  Salmasius,  "the 
pensioner  of  a  republic,"  as  Dr.  Johnson  calls 
him,  to  prostitute  his  pen  to  the  defence  of 
humbled  despotism,  is  vividly  and  scathingly 
portrayed  by  Milton's  pencil.  He  even  makes 
the  Leyden  professor  the  subject  of  a  spol*tive 
sally  in  iambics : 

"Who  to  our  English  tuned  Sahnasius'  throat? 
^Mio  taught  the  pye  to  speak  our  •\vortls  by  rote  ? 
A  hundred  golden  Jameses*  did  the  feat : 
He  learned  to  prattle,  for  he  wished  to  eat. 
Let  the  fidse  glare  of  gold  allure  his  hope  ; 
And  he  whose  stormy  voice  late  shook  the  Pope, 
And  threatened  antichrist  with  speedy  death, 
Will  soothe  the  conclave  with  his  tuneful  breath. " 

Milton  laid  the  foundation  of  his  argument 
broad  and  strong,  rearing  thereon  a  rhetorical 
edifice  of  singular  s^^mmetry  and  perfection. 

*  In  allusion  to  the  hundred  jacobuses  Salmasius  received  from 
Charles  for  imdertaking  the  defence. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  179 

Starting  with  the  assertion  of  the  original 
and  unlimited  sovereignty  of  the  people,  he 
proves  that  by  the  laws  of  God,  by  those  of 
nations,  and  by  the  municipal  laws  of  England, 
a  king  may  be  impeached,  and  if  found  guilty, 
he  may  be  executed.  He  affirms  that  in  this 
the  canons  of  God  exactl}^  agree  with  the  dic- 
tates of  nature ;  and  that  it  is  a  settled  maxim 
of  natural  law,  unimpeachable  and  eternal, 
that  the  people  are  the  source  of  power,  and 
are  therefore  superior  to  their  servant  and 
creature,  the  king  or  magistrate.  If  therefore 
it  be  asked  by  what  law  Charles  was  put  to 
death,  the  answer  is,  by  that  law  which  God 
established,  and  which  nature  sternly  enjoins. 
He  boldly  asserts  that  whatever  is  for  the 
general  good  of  the  state,  is  for  that  reason  just 
and  imperative  ;  that  a  people  bound  by  oath 
to  the  support  of  a  government  or  prince,  are 
discharged  of  that  obligation  when  government 
becomes  destructive  of  its  just  ends,  or  the 
king  assumes  to  plaj^  the  tyrant.  So  circum- 
stanced, the  law  dispenses  with  a  people's  alle- 
giance. These  doctrines,  he  claims,  are  not 
unique,  or  new,*  but  have  received  the  com- 


180  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

mon  sanction  of  mankind,  and  arc  covered  with 
the  hoar  of  ages. 

This  he  proves  by  copious  citations  from 
the  histor}'  of  ancient  nations.  Thus  the  kings 
of  the  Jews  were  subject  to  the  selfsame  law 
which  controlled  the  people ;  and  he  traces, 
with  masterly  erudition,  the  same  principle 
through  Egypt,  through  Persia,  through  the 
glowing  legends  of  Grecian  history  to  the  an- 
nals of  the  Roman  empire.  Crossing  the  sea 
with  the  Roman  conqueror,  he  shows  that  the 
principle  obtained  a  fixed  lodgment  in  early 
Britain ;  that  it  maintained  itself  through  the 
Saxon  epoch,  through  the  Norman  conquest, 
and  was  incorporated  in  the  English  constitu- 
tion by  usage  and  acquiescence;  growing 
stronger  and  more  clearly  defined  as  civiliza- 
tion lighted  its  myriad  torches,  until  it  touched 
its  climax  in  the  necessary  execution  of  Charles 
Stuart,  and  the  banishment  of  his  outlawed  son. 

The  argument  concludes  with  this  magnif- 
icent address : 

"So  far,  with  God's  assistance,  have  I  ac- 
complished my  original  purpose  of  defending, 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  the  proud  achieve- 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  181 

merits  of  my  countrymen  against  tlie  insane 
and  malignant  fury  of  a  frantic  sophist;  and  of 
vindicating — as  the  enem}^^  not  of  kings,  but 
of  tyrants — the  general  rights  of  the  subject 
from  the  unjust  despotism  of  the  prince.  Nor 
have  I  consciously  left  unanswered  a  single 
argument,  instance,  or  evidence,  adduced  by 
my  antagonist,  which  appeared  to  possess  the 
smallest  portion  either  of  strength  or  conclu- 
siveness ;  having  rather  perhaps  inclined  to  the 
opposite  fault,  of  replying  too  frequently  even 
to  his  irrelevant  and  trivial  sopliistries,  and  of 
treating  them,  as  arguments,  with  a  degree  of 
attention  of  which  they  were  undeserving. 

"  One  thing  alone,  but  perhaps  the  most 
important,  remains:  that  you  also,  my  coun- 
trymen, should  yourselves  unite  with  me  in  the 
confutation  of  your  enemy;  and  this,  in  my 
opinion,  can  no  otherwise  be  effected  than  by  a 
perpetual  effort  on  your  part  to  rise  above  his 
calumnies,  and  to  crush  them  with  your  vir- 
tues. To  your  ardent  vows  and  supplications 
the  Almighty  indulgently  listened  when,  under 
the  yoke  of  double  servitude,  you  sued  to  him 
for  deliverance.     You  are  the  first  among  the 


182  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

nations  whom  lie  luis  gloriously  rescued  from 
the  oppression  of  tyranny  and  superstition, 
those  two  mighty  evils  which  are  the  most 
hostile  to  the  perfection  of  man.  To  you,  the 
first  of  the  human  race,  did  he  impart  the  mag- 
nanimity to  submit  to  the  solemnit}"  of  a  judicial 
trial,  and,  when  found  guilty,  to  punish  with  a 
just  death  your  vanquished  and  captive  king. 

"After  a  deed  so  illustrious,  nothing  low 
or  narrow^  nothing  but  what  is  great  and  ex- 
alted should  enter  j^our  thoughts  and  actions. 
To  this  lofty  superiority  of  character  you  can 
rise  onl}'  by  showing  that,  as  you  have  quelled 
your  enemies  in  war,  so  with  fortitude  equally 
unexampled,  without  arms,  and  in  profound 
peace,  you  can  subdue  ambition  and  avarice, 
the  power  of  wealth,  and  the  corruption  of 
prosperity,  which  triumph  over  the  rest  of 
your  species ;  and  by  exhibiting,  in  the  pres- 
ervation of  your  freedom,  a  degree  of  justice, 
temperance,  and  moderation,  proportioned  to 
the  valor  which  you  evinced  in  its  attainment. 

"  B}^  these  arguments  and  evidences  alone 
can  you  satisfactoril}-  prove  that  you  are  not, 
as  your  calumniator  afiQrms,  'Rebels,'  'Rob- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  183 

bers,'  'Ruffians,'  'Parricides,'  and  'Fanatics,' 
and  that  jou.  have  not — under  the  impulse  of 
ambition  or  a  wish  to  plunder,  not  incited  by 
sedition  or  by  depraved  passions,  not  in  a  par- 
oxj^sm  of  folly  or  phrenzy — murdered  a  king ; 
but  that,  elevated  and  kindled  with  the  love  of 
libert}^,  of  religion,  of  equity,  of  honor,  and  of 
your  country,  you  have  inflicted  punishment 
upon  a  tja'ant. 

"If  however,  which  God  avert,  your  proj- 
ects and  purposes  be  different;  if,  notwith- 
standing j-^our  signal  experience  of  a  Deity  so 
propitious  to  yourselves  and  so  destructive  to 
your  foes ;  after  all  your  bravery  in  war,  you 
are  resolved  to  be  corrupt  in  peace,  and  unaf- 
fected by  the  memorable  and  awful  example 
before  your  eyes,  you  disdain  '  to  learn  to  do 
justice,  and  to  walk  humbly  with  jour  Grod,' 
for  my  part,  I  must  indeed  be  constrained  re- 
luctantly to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  all  these 
infamous  charges  against  you,  which  are  now 
uttered  or  conceived  by  the  slanderers  of  your 
fame ;  and  you  will  but  too  quickly  feel  the 
wrath  of  the  Almighty  in  a  much  more  power- 
ful deo-ree  than  it  has  ever  visited  vour  ene- 


184  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

mics,  or  tliiiu  you  yourselves  have  ever  expe- 
rienced, beyond  the  other  nations  of  modern 
times,  his  kind,  indulgent,  and  paternal  love."* 

"This  great  display  of  intellectual  poAver 
was  received  with  the  plaudit  of  tlie  world; 
and  as  the  author's  name  was  not  in  any  wide 
celebrity  out  of  his  own  country,  the  general 
surprise  was  nearly  equal  to  the  general  admi- 
ration. Congratulations  and  acknowledgments 
of  respect  poured  in  upon  him  from  every 
quarter,  and  the  scholars  of  Europe,  actuated 
by  a  similar  spirit  with  the  spectators  of  tlie 
old  Olympic  games,  threw  garlands  on  the  con- 
queror of  Salmasius.  On  the  publication  of 
the  ^Defence  of  the  People  of  England,^  all  the 
ambassadors  in  London,  of  whom  perhaps  the 
greater  number  were  from  crowned  heads,  dis- 
covered their  sense  of  its  merit  hj  compliment- 
ing or  visiting  its  author ;  and  he  was  gratified 
by  letters,  replete  with  praise  and  with  pro- 
fessions of  esteem,  from  foreigners  eminent  for 
their  talents  and  erudition. "f 

As  for  Salmasius,  already  broken  in  health, 

*  Proso  Works,  Vol.  V.,  p.  194. 
t  Symmons'  Life,  pp.  322,  323. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  185 

smote  by  the  "thunder-clasping  hand"  of  the 
mighty  Englishman,  and  having  in  his  intel- 
lectual armory  no  polemical  weapons  with 
which  to  parry  the  blow,  he  quitted  Leyden 
bitterly  chagrined,  and  repairing  to  the  mineral 
waters  of  Spa  for  seclusion  and  relief,  shortly 
after  died  there. 

No  more  terrible  and  utter  demolition  was 
ever  given  an  opponent  than  Milton's  cruci- 
fying  expose.  He  might  say,  with  stout  and 
somewhat  cynical  old  Wither,''' 

' '  I  stript  abuse  from  all  her  colors  quite, 
And  laid  lier  ugly  face  to  open  sight." 

And  again : 

' '  I  have  my  pen  so  point  that,  vrhere  it  traces, 
Each  accent  doth  di'aw  blood  into  their  faces." 

Yet  he  is  never  exactly  vindictive,  but 
knows  how  to  be  "harsh  as  truth  and  uncom- 
promising as  justice"  when  defending  against 
hireling  assaults  and  despotic  precepts  the 
majestic  tenets  of  civil  and  religious  liberty. 

*  John  Wither,  a  noted  Puritan  poet  and  satirist  of  that  age ; 
bom  in  1588,  and  sometime  a  major-general  in  the  Parliamentary 
army  under  Cromwell. 


186  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  hearty  applause  with  which  the  ''De- 
fence of  the  EngUsli  People"  was  greeted  by 
continental  thinkers,  was  doubly  echoed  b}^ 
Milton's  own  grateful  and  appreciative  coun- 
trj'men.  The  Council  of  State  voted  him  a 
donation  of  a  thousand  pounds  from  the  pub- 
lic treasury,  as  a  testimonial  of  their  sense  of 
his  service  to  the  Commonwealth.*  He  had 
besides  the  gratification  to  perceive  that,  while 
the  libel  of  Salmasius  "lingered  on  the  vend- 
ers' shelves,  or  crept  languidl}'  through  a  very 
confined  circulation,"  his  own  immortal  work 
passed  rapidly  through  several  editions,  and 
made  him,  as  Bayle  tells  us,  the  conversation 
of  the  world.  Nor  did  the  distinction  which 
the  " Defence''  enjoyed  of  being  publicl}'  burn- 
ed by  the  common  hangman  in  the  squares  of 
Paris  and  Toulouse  tend  to  decrease  the  de- 
mand for  it,  or  to  lessen  the  fame  of  its  great 
writer. 

•  TolantL     Symmons,  p.  335. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  187 

It  was  at  this  time,  wlien  Milton  was  at  the 
zenith  of  his  contemporary  fame,  that  the  cele- 
brated Roger  Williams,  the  founder  of  Rhode 
Island,  the  faithful  friend  of  religious  tolera- 
tion, and  the  dauntless  defender  of  civil  and 
ecclesiastical  liberty,  dispatched  by  his  loving 
disciples  at  home  on  a  mission  to  England, 
contracted  that  intimate  friendship  with  the 
Latin  Secretary  of  the  Council  and  with  the 
younger  Yane,  the  influence  of  which  has  been 
so  beneficent  to  either  continent. 

Roger  Williams  reached  London  some  time 
in  1651.  Taking  a  house  in  the  immediate  vicin- 
ity of  the  respective  residences  of  Milton  and 
Yane,  his  mission  brought  him  to  their  speedy 
notice  ;  while  his  republican  sentiments,  his 
religious  fervor,  his  profound  scholarship,  and 
his  tolerant  principles  soon  secured  their  re- 
spect, which  feeling  ere  long  ripened  into  the 
most  intimate  friendship.  Domesticated  in 
England  for  some  years — he  did  not  return  to 
America  until  1654 — Roger  Williams  feked  out 
his  slender  income  by  receiving,  after  Milton's 
fashion,  a  number  of  pupils.  During  this  time 
the  close  familiarity  in  which   he  lived  with 


188  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Milton  and  with  Tanc,  is  shown  by  several 
passages  in  his  writings.  It  appears  that  he 
even  exchanged  literary  offices  with  Milton; 
for  on  his  return  to  Rhode  Island,  in  giving 
his  friend  Governor  Winthrop  of  Connecticut 
an  account  of  his  employments  while  abroad,  he 
uses  this  language :  "  It  pleased  the  Lord  to  call 
me  for  some  time  and  with  some  persons  to 
practise  the  Hebrew,  the  Greek,  Latin,  French, 
and  Dutch ;  the  Secretary  of  the  Council,  Mr. 
Milton,  for  my  Dutch  I  read  him,  read  me 
many  more  languages.'"* 

Is  it  possible  to  overestimate  the  influence 
of  an  intimate  association  of  two  or  three  years 
with  such  master-minds  as  those  of  John  Mil- 
ton and  Sir  Henry  Yane  upon  so  congenial  a 
spirit  as  that  of  Roger  Williams?  May  not 
many  of  those  broad,  tolerant,  and  self-sacri- 
ficing principles  which  distinguished  Roger 
Williams'  career,  have  owed  their  origin  to  the 
close  intimacy  and  the  friendly  chat  of  these 
'three  illustrious  men  in  the  vigorous  days  of 
the  Endish  Commonwealth? 


*  See  Appleton's    "  Cyclopsedia ;"    also  various   biographical 
sketches  of  Roger  Williams. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  189 

On  the  second  of  May,  1G52,  Milton's  fam- 
ily was  increased  by  the  birth  of  a  fourth  child, 
Deborah;  whose  advent  into  the  world,  how- 
ever, cost  the  life  of  her  mother.  Milton  seems 
ever  after  their  reconciliation  to  have  lived 
very  happily  with  his  wife,  and  she  died  re- 
gretted and  mourned  by  him.  "  He  was  thus," 
says  Dr.  Sj^mmons,  "left  with  three  orphan 
daughters  in  domestic  solitude,  and  in  a  state 
rapidly  advancing  to  blindness.  As  we  have 
seen,  his  physicians  predicted  loss  of  sight  as 
the  inevitable  result  of  his  persistence  in  the 
compilation  of  the  ^'BefenceT  Their  prophetic 
declarations  were  fatally  verified  :  his  sight, 
naturally  weak,  and  impaired  by  long  years  of 
ceaseless  devotion  to  study  and  neglect  of  all 
precautions,  had  been  for  many  months  sensi- 
bly declining;  and  completely  overtasked  by 
the  labor  of  this  last  work,  he  became,  proba- 
bly some  time  in  1G53,  totally  blind. 

Leonard  Philarus,  an  Athenian  scholar 
who  had  been  enthusiastically  attached  to 
Milton  by  the  perusal  of  his  ''Defence  of  the 
English  People,^^  and  who  had  even  visited 
England  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  per- 


190  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

sonal  acquaintance  of  the  immortal  P^nglish- 
man,  upon  learning  Milton's  misfortune,  wrote 
liim  from  Paris,  urging  him  to  forward  a  de- 
tailed account  of  his  blindness,  which  he  prom- 
ised to  submit  to  the  consideration  of  'SI.  The- 
venot,  then  an  eminent  oculist.  In  response  to 
this  request,  Milton  communicated  the  follow- 
ing facts,  peculiarly  interesting  and  sad : 

"It  is  now  about  ten  years  I  think  since  I 
first  perceived  my  sight  to  grow  weak  and  dim, 
and  at  the  same  time  my  spleen  and  other  vis- 
cera heav}'  and  flatulent.  When  I  sate  down 
to  read  as  usual  of  the  morning,  my  eyes  gave 
me  considerable  pain,  and  refused  their  oflBcc 
till  fortified  by  moderate  exercise  of  body. 
If  I  looked  at  a  candle,  it  appeared  surrounded 
with  an  iris.  In  a  little  time  a  darkness,  cov- 
ering the  left  side  of  the  left  eye,  which  was 
partially  clouded  some  years  before  the  other, 
intercepted  the  view  of  all  things  in  that  direc- 
tion. Objects  also  in  front  seemed  to  dwindle 
in  size  whenever  I  closed  my  right  eye.  This 
eye  too  for  three  years  gradually  failing,  a 
few  months  previous  to  my  total  blindness, 
while  I  was  perfectly  stationary,  every  thing 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  191 

seemed  to  swim  backward  and  forward;  and 
now  thick  vapors  appear  to  settle  on  my  fore- 
head and  temples,  which  weigh  down  my  lids 
with  an  oppressive  sense  of  drowsiness,  espec- 
ially in  the  interval  between  dinner  and  the 
evening,  so  as  frequently  to  remind  me  of  Phin- 
eas  the  Salmydessian,  in  the  Argonautics : 

"  'In  darkness  swam  his  brain,  and  where  he  stood, 
The  steadfast  earth  seemed  rolling  as  a  flood. 
Nerveless  his  tongue,  and,  every  power  oppressed. 
He  sank,  and  languished  into  torpid  rest. ' 

"I  ought  not  however  to  omit  mentioning, 
that,  before  I  wholly  lost  my  sight,  as  soon  as 
I  lay  down  in  my  bed  and  turned  upon  either 
side,  brilliant  flashes  of  light  used  to  issue  from 
my  closed  eyes ;  and  afterwards,  upon  the 
gradual  failure  of  my  powers  of  vision,  colors, 
proportionably  dim  and  faint,  seemed  to  rush 
out  with  a  degree  of  vehemence,  and  a  kind  of 
inward  noise.  These  have  now  faded  into  uni- 
form blackness,  such  as  issues  on  the  extinc- 
tion of  a  candle ;  or  blackness  varied  only  and 
intermingled  with  a  dunnish  grey.  The  con- 
stant darkness  however  in  which  I  live  day 
and  night  inclines  more  to  a  whitish  than  to  a 
blackish  tinge,  and  the  eye,  in  turning  itself 


192  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

round,  admits,  as  tliruugh  a  narrow  chink,  a 
very  small  portion  of  light.  But  this,  though 
it  may  perhaps  ofTer  a  similar  glimpse  of  hope 
to  tlie  physician,  docs  not  prevent  me  from 
making  up  ni}'  mind  to  m}-  case,  as  one  evi- 
dently beyond  the  reach  of  cure ;  and  I  often 
reflect  that,  as  many  da3's  of  darkness,  accord- 
ing to  the  wise  man,  Eccles.  11:8,  are  allotted 
to  us  all,  mine,  which,  by  the  singular  favor  of 
the  Deity,  are  divided  between  leisure  and 
study,  are  recreated  by  the  conversation  and 
intercourse  of  m}'  friends,  and  are  far  more 
agreeable  than  those  deadly  shades  of  which 
Solomon  is  speaking. 

"But  if,  as  it  is  written,  'Man  shall  not 
live  b}^  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word  that 
proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God,'  Matt. 
4 :  4,  why  should  not  each  of  us  likewise  acqui- 
esce in  the  reflection  that  he  derives  the  bene- 
fits of  sight  not  from  his  eyes  alone,  but  from  the 
guidance  and  providence  of  the  same  supreme 
Being.  While  lie  looks  out  and  provides  for 
me  as  he  does,  and  leads  me  about,  as  it  were, 
with  his  hand  through  the  paths  of  life,  I  will- 
ingly surrender  my  own  faculty  of  vision  in 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  193 

conformity  with  his  good  pleasure  ;  and  with  a 
heart  as  strong  and  as  steadfast  as  if  I  were  a 
Lynceus,  I  bid  j^ou,  ni}-  Philarus,  farewell." 

This  letter  to  Philarus  was  dated  at  West- 
minster, September  28,  1654,  and  speaks  ol 
the  loss  of  sight  as  no  recent  event.  Singular- 
ly enough  the  precise  date  of  Milton's  blind- 
ness has  never  been  definitely  ascertained, 
thou2:h  circumstances  seem  to  indicate  that  it 
occurred  sometime  in  1652-3. 

Milton's  enemies  did  not  scruple  to  taunt 
him  with  his  blindness,  attributing  it  to  the 
judgment  of  God  upon  him  for  his  wicked  writ- 
ings. But  the  calm  Christian  philosojoh}^,  and 
the  serene  reliance  upon  the  indisputable  good- 
ness of  the  Creator,  which  peculiarly  character- 
ized John  Milton's  mind,  enabled  him  to  bear 
without  a  murmur,  and  with  pitying  disdain, 
the  heartless  jibes  of  his  relentless  foes,  from 
whose  venomed  shafts  not  even  the  sacred 
shelter  of  misfortune  could  cover  him.  There 
is  nothing  in  history  grander  and  more  sub- 
lime than  Milton's  uncomplaining  and  sweet 
acceptance  of  a  calamity  which  threatened  to 
throw  him  out  of  the  employment  of  the  state, 


19i  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

to  bliglit  all  prospect  of  a  further  literary 
career,  and  to  lead  him  in  darkness  and  penury 
to  a  speedy  grave. 

This  fortitude,  and  its  source,  he  admirably 
displays  in  a  touehingly  beautiful  sonnet  ad- 
dressed to  his  friend  Cyriac  Skinner,  a  grand- 
son of  that  famous  lawyer.  Lord  Coke. 

"TO  CYEIAC   SKINNER. 
"Cyriac,  this  thi-ee  years  day,  these  eyes,  though  clear 

To  outward  ^^cw  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  foi^ot ; 
Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 
Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  stai-s,  throughout  the  year. 

Or  man,  or  woman :  yet  I  argue  not 

Against  heaven's  hand  or  yrHl,  nor  bate  a  jot 
Of  heart  or  hope  ;  but  still  bear  up  and  s-teer 

Eight  onward.    "VMiat  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ?- 
The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overphed 

In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task. 
Of  which  all  Eurojie  rings  from  side  to  side  ; 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain  mask 
Content,  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide." 

•  When  Milton  came,  a  little  later,  to  notice 
the  slurs  cast  upon  his  loss  of  sight,  he  made 
it  evident  that  he  deliberately  and  serenely 
chose  blindness  and  speech,  rather  than  silence 
with  sight.  Actuated  by  the  old  martyr  spirit, 
he  tore  out  his  eyes,  in  no  metaphorical  sense, 
and  laid  them  upon  the  altar  of  slandered  and 
outraged  liberty. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  195 

He  says,  "  When  the  task  of  repljing  to 
the  'Defence  of  the  Kincf  was  publicly  com- 
mitted to  me  at  a  time  when  I  had  to  contend 
with  ill-health,  and  when  one  of  my  eyes  being 
nearly  lost,  my  phj^sicians  clearly  predicted 
that,  if  I  undertook  the  laborious  work,  I 
should  soon  be  deprived  both  of  one  and  the 
other ;  undeterred  by  the  warning,  I  seemed 
to  hear  a  voice,  not  of  a  physician,  nor  issuing 
from  the  shrine  of  Epidaurian  Esculapius,  but 
of  some  internal  and  divine  monitor;  and  con- 
ceiving that,  by  some  fatal  decree,  the  alterna- 
tive of  two  lots  was  proposed  to  me,  that  I 
must  either  lose  my  sight,  or  must  desert  a  high 
duty,  the  two  destinies  occurred  to  me  which 
the  son  of  Thetis  reports  to  have  been  submit- 
ted to  him  by  his  mother  from  the  oracle  of 
Delphi: 

"  'For,  as  the  goddess  spoke  who  gave  me  birth, 
Two  fates  attend  me  while  I  live  on  earth. 

If  fixed,  I  combat  by  the  Trojan  wall, 

Deathless  my  fame,  but  certain  is  my  fall ; 

If  I  return — beneath  my  native  sky 

My  days  shall  flourish  long — my  glory  die.' 

"Eeflecting  therefore  with  myself,  that 
man}"  had  purchased  less  good  with  greater  evil, 
and  had  even  paid  life  as  the  price  of  glor}', 


196  THE  LIFE  AND   TIMES 

while  to  mc  the  greater  good  was  offered  at 
the  expense  of  tlie  less  evil ;  that  only  by  in- 
curring blindness  I  might  satisfy  the  demand 
of  the  most  honorable  duty;  and  that  glory 
even  by  itself  ought  universally  to  be  regard- 
ed as  of  all  human  possessions  the  most  cer- 
tain, the  most  desirable,  and  the  most  worthy 
of  our  esteem,  I  determined  to  dedicate  the 
short  enjoyment  of  my  eyesight,  with  as  much 
effect  as  I  could,  to  the  public  advantage. 

"  You  see  then  what  I  have  preferred,  what 
I  have  lost,  what  motives  influenced  my  con- 
duct. Let  my  slanderers  therefore  desist  from 
their  calumnies,  nor  make  me  the  subject  of 
their  visionary  and  dreaming  fancies.  Let 
them  know  that  I  am  far  from  regretting  my 
lot,  or  from  repenting  of  my  choice ;  let  them 
be  assured  that  my  mind  and  m}'  opinions  are 
immovably  the  same ;  that  I  am  neither  con- 
scious of  the  anger  of  God,  nor  believe  that  I 
am  exposed  to  it;  but,  on  the  contrar}^  that 
I  have  experienced  in  the  most  momentous 
events  of  my  life,  and  am  still  sensible  of,  his 
mercy  and  paternal  kindness.'"''' 

*  Defensio  Secunda,  Prose  Works,  Vol.  V.,  p.  216. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  197 

This  beautiful  sonnet  exhibits  still  farther 
the  patient  and  Christian  spirit  of  Milton,  and 
shows  that  the  principles  of  religious  faith  en- 
abled him  to  triumph  gloriously  over  the  afflic- 
tions of  the  fleshly  tabernacle,  and  "  filled  him 
with  joy  and  peace  in  believing." 

«'0N  MY  BLINDNESS. 

"When  I  consider  how  my  life  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  daj's,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  taleut  which  is  death  to  hide 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide, 
'  Doth  God  exact  day  labor,  UgJit  denied  ?' 
I  fondly  ask  ;  but  patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  '  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  works,  or  his  ovsti  gift ;  who  best 
Bears  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best :  his  state 
Is  kingly  ;  thoiisands  at  his  bidding  speed. 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  withoiit  rest : 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. ' " 

"Equally  unascertained  with  that  of  his 
blindness,''  says  Dr.  Symmons,  "is  the  precise 
date  of  his  second  marriage,  which  took  place, 
as  we  are  informed,  about  two  years  after  his 
entire  loss  of  sight.  The  lady  whom  he  chose 
on  this  occasion  was  Catharine,  the  daughter 
of  a  Captain  Woodcock  of  Hackney.  She  seems 
to  have  been  the  object  of  her  husband's  fond- 


198  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

est  affection  ;  and  dying,  like  her  predecessor, 
in  childbed,  within  a  year  after  her  marriage, 
she  was  lamented  by  him  in  a  pleasing  and 
pathetic  sonnet."  The  daughter  born  to  him 
at  this  time  lingered  but  a  few  days,  before  fol- 
lowing her  mother  to  the  tomb. 

Inlirm,  blind,  and  a  widower  for  the  second 
time,  surely  Milton  needed  all  his  faith  in  a 
Providence  overruling  all  things  for  the  best, 
to  enable  his  chastened  lips  to  say,  "  Not  my 
will.  Father,  but  thine  be  done." 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  199 


CHAPTER   XIY. 

During  the  whole  jDeriocl  of  domestic  mis- 
fortune narrated  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
Milton's  pen  was  employed  as  vigorously  and 
as  efifectiyely  as  ever,  in  the  defence  and  elu- 
cidation of  the  principles  of  religion  and  just 
government. 

Two  answers  to  the  ''Defence  of  the  People 
of  England "'  ere  long  appeared.  The  first  was 
weakly  though  venomously  written,  and  Mil- 
ton, not  deigning  to  notice  it,  turned  it  over  to 
the  youthful  pen  of  his  nephew,  Phillips,  then 
scarce  twenty  years  old.  The  other  was 
published  at  the  Hague  in  1652,  and  was  en- 
titled, ''The  Cry  of  Royal  Blood  to  Heaven 
against  the  Unglish  Parricides.''^  In  reply  to 
this  work,  which  was  ably  written,  though  full 
of  ribald  falsehood,  Milton  himself,  urged  there- 
to by  the  Council  of  State,  drew  his  trenchant 
pen. 

Accordingly  in  1654  appeared  "A  Second 
Defence  of  the  Peojple  of  England,''^  which  has 


200  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

been  prououneed  the  iiKist  inlere.^liiig  if  not 
the  most  striking  of  his  prose  compositions.* 

The  "Second  Defence"  is  mainly  of  inter- 
est now  on  account  of  the  fact  that  it  contains 
many  personal  details  concerning  the  habits, 
appearance,  and  purposes  of  its  author,  and 
also  because  of  several  valuable  pen  portraits 
of  Milton's  prominent  republican  and  other 
friends  and  associates. 

In  order  clearly  to  understand  the  several 
passages  which  we  give  from  this  "Defence," 
it  will  be  necessary  to  direct  our  attention  once 
more  to  the  political  condition  of  Great  Britain 
at  this  momentous  conjuncture. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  that  portion  of 
the  Long  Parliament  which  had  survived  the 
military  invasion  of  1648,  and  which  has  re- 
ceived in  history  the  name  of  the  "Rump" 
Parliament,  had,  after  the  execution  of  the 
king,  new-modelled  and  rcpublicanized  the 
government.  Under  the  Parliament  and  the 
Council  of  State,  of  which  Milton  was  secreta- 
ry, the  conduct  of  public  affairs  had  been  ener- 
getic, able,  and  cflcctive.    Many  of  the  political 

•  Symmous'  Life,  p.  353. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  201 

acts  of  that  unique  administration  had  display- 
ed profound  sagacity,  and  high  statesmanship. 
The  famous  navigation  act,  which  contributed 
so  essentially  to  the  naval  supremacy  of  Great 
Britain  then  and  ever  after,  was  the  offspring 
of  its  wisdom.  The  exchequer  had  been  kept 
fully  supplied.  The  entire  civil  establishment 
had,  for  the  first  time  in  several  decades,  been 
liberally  and  handsomely  kept  up;  so  that 
from  the  revenues  of  the  state  the  various  pub- 
lic officers  and  the  army  could  be  paid  readily 
and  promptly  according  to  their  several  merits. 
It  had  moreover  compelled  the  unhesitating 
respect  of  Continental  Europe. 

Had  the  government  been  as  careful  to 
conciliate  that  public  opinion  at  home  upon 
which  it  professed  to  rest,  as  it  was  to  preserve 
its  dignity  and  high  character,  how  different 
might  have  been  the  history  of  "the  fast-an- 
chored island." 

Many  of  the  domestic  measures  of  the  new 
administration  had  been  exceedingly  arbitrary 
and  reprehensible.  It  had  tampered  with  the 
jurisprudential  system  quite  as  offensivel}^  as 
had   the  Stuarts  beforetime.     High  courts  of 

9* 


202  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

justice  of  the  nature  of  the  Star  Chamber  had 
been  repeatedly  cstablislicd,  and  that  palladium 
of  popular  rights,  the  jury  trial,  so  dear  to  every 
English  heart,  and  so  justl}'  eulogized  by  a  long 
and  illustrious  line  of  lawyers  and  statesmen, 
from  Coke  and  Bacon  to  Soraers  and  ^lans- 
field,  had  been  dispensed  with.  The  victims 
of  these  irresponsible  tribunals,  and  their 
friends,  made  the  island  echo  with  their  pro- 
tests; while  the  government,  disregarding  in 
its  tenacious  grasp  of  power  the  fundamental 
principle  upon  which  it  was  based,  and  from 
which  it  drew  its  very  breath — popular  sover- 
eignty'— laid  open  its  inconsistency  and  greedy 
ambition  to  the  easy  and  inevitable  observa- 
tion of  the  masses.  The  consequence  of  all 
this  was  that  the  Parliament  became  generally 
odious. 

But  while  the  pojnilar  assembh'  was  thus 
declining  in  the  estimation  of  the  people,  the 
army,  and  especially  its  victorious  and  re- 
markable commander-in-chief,  acquired  a  pro- 
portionate ascendency  in  the  national  favor. 
The  conduct  of  the  army,  and  of  its  leaders, 
had  been  quite  as  despotic  and  reprehensible, 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  203 

to  say  the  least,  and  that  too  without  the  cover 
of  necessity  or  authority,  as  that  of  the  Parlia- 
ment. But  prejudice  knows  no  reason,  and  the 
people,  discontented  and  harassed,  did  not  stop 
to  philosophize,  but  clamored  ominousl}''  for  a 
reform. 

For  the  inauguration  of  the  new  regime  they 
looked  to  Oliver  Cromwell,  then  decorated 
with  the  almost  imperial  title  of  Captain-Gen- 
eral, and  the  idol  alike  of  the  army  and  of  the 
populace.  The  early  and  lamented  death  of 
the  accomplished  and  high-minded  Hampden, 
the  resignation  of  Fairfax,  the  sudden  death 
of  that  stern  and  inflexible  republican,  and 
popular  and  potent  leader,  Ireton,'"  had  de- 
prived the  nation  of  many  of  those  leaders 
upon  whom  it  had  been  wont  to  rely,  while  at 
the  same  time  these  circumstances  had  served 
to  render  the  popularity  of  the  grandest  chief 
of  them  all,  Cromwell,  all  but  limitless.  To 
him  therefore  the  nation  appealed  in  this 
crisis. 

Returning  flushed  with  success  from  the 
splendid  triumphs  of  Dunbar  and  Worcester, 

•  Ireton  died  at  Limerick,  Ireland,  of  the  plagiie,  iu  Nov.  1651. 


204  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

where  the  royal  cause,  which  the  outlawed 
prince  had  sought  to  prop  up  by  foreign  inva- 
sion, had  again  and  hopelessly  fallen  before  the 
genius  and  the  trenchant  blade  of  the  Captain- 
General,  his  ears  were  instantly  filled  with 
the  popular  grievances.  "Wielding  the  army 
in  his  right  hand  and  holding  the  people  in  his 
left,  Cromwell  now  determined  to  remould  the 
state. 

Whether  he  was  urged  to  what  is  called 
his  usurpation  l)y  hypocritical  and  impious 
ambition,  or  by  honest  and  patriotic  zeal  for 
the  welfare  of  the  Commonwealth,  is  matter  of 
mere  idle  speculation.  He  is  to  be  judged  by 
his  acts,  not  by  his  secret  impulses.  Only  the 
great  Searcher  of  all  hearts  is  competent  to  let 
the  plummet  down  into  Cromwell's  soul  and 
to  disclose  his  motives. 

And  this  is  what  he  did:  the  "Rump" 
Parliament  was  dismissed  ;  a  new  legislature 
was  elected  by  Cromwell's  own  authority. 
After  a  brief  and  inefQcient  existence  of  but  a 
few  months,  this  puny  Parliament,  which  was 
called,  from  one  of  its  leading  members,  a 
leather-seller  of  Fleet-street,  "Barebone's  Par- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  205 

liament,"  was  also  rather  roughly  sent  from  the 
Council-chamber;  and  a  board  of  officers  as- 
sumed the  authority,  acting  professedly  for  the 
nation,  to  appoint  Cromwell  to  the  supreme 
control,  with  the  title  of  "Lord  Protector  of 
the  Commonwealth  of  England."  At  the  same 
time  provision  was  made  for  the  triennial  con- 
vocation of  a  Parliament  in  whose  constitution 
the  popular  element  was  a  decided  feature. 

Into  this  high  office  the  Lord  Protector  was 
installed,  amid  much  enthusiasm  and  with  mag- 
nificent ceremonies,  on  the  16th  of  December, 
1653. 

History  has  of  course  branded  this  whole 
procedure  as,  in  a  technical  sense,  illegal ;  but 
remembering  the  distraction  of  the  times,  the 
foundations  of  the  great  political  deep  broken 
up,  anarchy  running  mad  and  raving  through 
the  aff'righted  streets,  all  generous  and  libert}-- 
loving  souls  will  find  palliation  for  Cromwell's 
"usurpation,"  which  gave>  England  a  stable 
government,  needed  rest,  and  rational  freedom, 
during  the  remainder  of  the  great  Protector's 
life. 

With  this  new  government  Milton  at  once 


206  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

fell  in,  because  "he  confidently  hoped,"  says 
Toland,  "  that  Cromwell  would  employ  his 
power  and  trust  to  extinguish  the  numerous 
factions  in  the  state,  and  to  settle  a  perfect 
form  of  free  government,  wherein  no  single 
person  should  enjoy  any  power  above  or  be- 
side the  laws." 

The  Latin  Secretaryship  was  continued 
under  the  Protectorate,  with  Milton  still  at  its 
head,  he  being  allowed  to  have,  on  account  of 
his  blindness,  an  assistant,  one  Andrew  Mar- 
vell,  a  person  of  learning  and  real  worth,  be- 
sides being  a  devoted  friend  of  the  famous  Sec- 
retary. Milton's  salary  continued  to  be  'two 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  as  before. 

It  is  very  certain  that  Milton  warmly  ad- 
mired Cromwell's  genius  and  character.  The 
Protector  was  a  sincere  friend  of  complete  re- 
ligious toleration,  not,  as  is  too  often  the  case, 
from  carelessness  or  lukewarmness — for  surely 
no  man  ever  had  rftore  decided  religious  opin- 
ions than  Oliver  Cromwell — but  from  a  firm 
belief  in  the  justice  of  the  principle.  Here  at 
the  outset  a  chord  of  sympathy  was  established 
between  these  two  celebrated  men ;  and  when, 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  207 

shortly  after  his  assumption  of  sovereign  power, 
Cromwell  proclaimed  religious  toleration,  Mil- 
ton addressed  to  him  this  expressive  and  justly 
eulogistic  sonnet: 

"Cromwell,  our  chief  of  men,  who  through  a  cloud 
Not  of  war  only,  but  distractions  rude. 
Guided  by  faith  and  matchless  fortitude, 

To  peace  and  truth  thy  glorious  way  hath  ploughed, 
And  fought  God's  battles,  and  his  work  pursued, 
■WTiile  Darwent  streams,  with  blood  of  Scots  imbiied, 
And  Dunbar's  field  resounds  thy  praises  loud, 

And  "Worcester's  laureate  wreath.     Yet  much  remains 
To  conquer  still ;  peace  has  her  victories 
No  less  than  those  of  war.     New  foes  arise. 

Threatening  to  bind  our  souls  in  secular  chains  : 
Help  us  to  save  free  conscience  from  the  paw 
Of  hireling  wolves,  whose  gosj^el  is  their  maw. " 

It  was,  as  before  stated,  in  the  year  1654 
that  the  ''Second  Defence  of  the  English  Peo- 
j9/6"  was  published,  and  consequently  but  a 
few  months  after  the  commencement  of  Crom- 
well's Protectorate.  It  is  in  this  work,  writ- 
ten under  the  circumstances  just  described, 
that  Milton's  portrait  and  eulogy  of  the  Lord 
Protector  appear.  This  apostrophe,  though 
highly  laudatory,  is  singularly  free  from  flat- 
tery or  sycophancy,  and  betrays  the  erect  and 
austerely  independent  spirit  which  made  John 
Milton  in  many  respects  a  model  citizen. 


208  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Milton  thus  expresses  his  approbation  of 
Cromwell's  dissolution  of  the  Long  Parliament: 

"  When  3'ou  saw  them  studious  only  of  de- 
lay, and  perceived  each  one  more  attentive  to 
private  advantage  than  public  welfare;  when 
3'ou  found  the  nation  lamenting  over  their  de- 
luded hopes,  which  were  successively  baffled 
and  disappointed  by  the  power  of  a  few,  you 
at  length  did  that  which  they  had  been  fre- 
quently warned  and  instructed  to  do,  and  put 
an  end  to  their  sittings." 

He  bears  this  witness  to  Cromwell's  relig- 
ious character :  "Such  was  the  discipline  of  his 
mind,  moulded  not  merely  to  military  subor- 
dination, but  to  precepts  of  Christianity,  sanc- 
tity, and  sobriety,  that  all  the  good  and  val- 
iant were  irresistibly  drawn  to  his  camp,  not 
only  as  to  the  best  school  of  martial  science, 
but  also  of  piety  and  religion ;  and  those  who 
joined  it  were  necessarily  rendered  such  by 
his  example." 

Milton  next  proceeds  animatedl}'  and  strik- 
ingly to  group  the  remarkable  events  which 
had  sprinkled  Cromwell's  path  with  the  stars 
of  glory  since  his  appointment  to  the  Captain- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  209 

generalship  of  the  army.  He  enumerates  the 
complete  reconquest  of  Ireland,  the  definitive 
subjugation  of  Scotland,  the  great  and  crown- 
ing victory  at  Worcester,  the  dissolution  of  the 
Long  Parliament,  the  meeting  and  subsequent 
abdication  of  the  "Barebone's"  Parliament. 
He  pictures  the  deserted  Commonwealth  as 
leaning  on  the  single  arm  of  the  Protector, 
who,  "  by  that  best  of  rights,  acknowledged  by 
reason  and  given  by  God,  the  right  of  superior 
talents  and  virtue,  is  in  possession  of  the  su- 
preme power."  Then  resting  from  his  mas- 
terly resume^  he  speaks  of  Cromwell's  magnan- 
imous rejection  of  the  title  of  king,  which  had 
been  pressed  upon  him,  and  adds  this  pane- 
gyric : 

"Proceed  then,  Oh  Cromwell,  and  exhibit, 
under  every  circumstance,  the  same  loftiness 
of  mind ;  for  it  well  becomes  you,  and  is  con- 
sistent with  your  greatness.  The  redeemer, 
as  you  are,  of  your  country,  the  author,  the 
guardian,  the  preserver  of  her  liberty,  you  can 
assume  no  additional  character  more  important 
or  more  auo-ust;  since  not  onlv  the  actions  of 
our  kings,  but  the  fabled  exploits  of  our  heroes 


210  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

are  overcome  by  your  aclncvements.  Reflect 
then  frequently — liow  dear  alike  the  trust,  and 
the  Parent  from  whom  you  received  it — that 
to  your  hands  your  country  has  commended 
and  confided  her  freedom ;  that  what  she  late- 
ly expected  from  her  choicest  representatives, 
she  now  hopes  only  from  you.  Oh  reverence 
this  high  confidence,  this  hope  of  your  coun- 
try, relying  exclusively  upon  yourself:  rever- 
ence the  countenances  and  the  wounds  of  those 
brave  men  who  have  so  nobly  struggled  for 
liberty  under  your  auspices,  as  well  as  the 
manes  of  those  who  have  fallen  in  the  conflict : 
reverence  also  the  opinion  and  the  discourse  of 
foreign  communities;  their  lofty  anticipation 
with  respect  to  our  freedom  so  valiantly  ob- 
tained, to  our  republic  so  gloriously  establish- 
ed, of  which  the  speedy  extinction  would  in- 
volve us  in  the  deepest  and  the  most  unexam- 
pled infamy:  reverence,  finally,  yourself;  and 
suffer  not  that  liberty,  for  the  attainment  of 
which  you  have  endured  so  manj^  hardships, 
to  sustain  any  violation  from  your  hands,  or 
any  from  those  of  others.  Without  our  free- 
dom, in  fact,  you  cannot  yourself  be  free ;  for 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  211 

it  is  justly  ordained  by  nature,  that  he  who  in- 
vades the  liberty  of  others,  shall,  in  the  very 
outset,  lose  his  own,  and  be  the  first  to  feel 
that  servitude  which  he  has  induced.  But  if 
the  very  patron,  the  tutelary  deity  as  it  were, 
of  freedom — if  the  man  the  most  eminent  for 
justice  and  sanctity,  and  general  excellence, 
should  assail  that  liberty  which  he  has  asserted, 
the  issue  must  necessarily  be  pernicious,  if  not 
fatal,  not  only  to  the  aggressor,  but  to  the  en- 
tire sj^stem  and  interests  of  piety  herself:  honor 
and  virtue  would,  indeed,  appear  to  be  empty 
names;  the  credit  and  character  of  religion 
would  decline  and  perish,  under  a  wound  more 
deep  than  any  which,  since  the  first  transgres- 
sion, has  been  inflicted  on  the  race  of  man. 

"  You  have  engaged  in  a  most  arduous  un- 
dertaking, which  will  search  you  to  the  quick ; 
which  will  scrutinize  you  through  and  through ; 
which  will  bring  to  the  severest  trial  your 
spirit,  your  energy,  your  stability ;  which  will 
ascertain  whether  you  are  really  actuated  by 
that  living  piety  and  honor  and  equity  and 
moderation,  which  seem,  b}'  the  favor  of  God, 
to  have  raised  you  to  your  present  high  dignity. 


212  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

"To  rule  with  your  counsels  throe  mighty 
realms;  in  the  place  of  their  erroneous  institu- 
tions to  substitute  a  sounder  sj'stem  of  doctrine 
and  of  discipline;  to  pervade  their  remotest 
provinces  with  unremitting  attention  and  anx- 
iety, vigilance  and  foresight ;  to  decline  no  la- 
bors, to  jield  to  no  blandishments  of  pleasure, 
to  spurn  the  pageantries  of  wealth  and  of  pow- 
er— these  are  difficulties  in  comparison  with 
which  those  of  war  are  mere  levities  of  plaj^; 
these  will  sift  and  winnow  you ;  these  demand 
a  man  sustained  by  the  divine  assistance — tu- 
tored and  instructed  almost  by  a  personal  com- 
munication with  his  God. 

"  These  and  more  than  these  you  often,  as  I 
doubt  not,  revolve  and  make  the  subjects  of  your 
deepest  meditation,  grcatlj^  solicitous  how,  most 
happil}',  they  maybe  achieved,  and  your  coun- 
try's freedom  be  strengthened  and  secured: 
and  these  objects  you  cannot,  in  my  judgment, 
otherwise  effect  than  b}'  admitting,  as  jou.  do, 
to  an  intimate  share  in  your  counsels,  those 
men  who  have  alread}'  participated  your  toils 
and  dangers — men  of  the  utmost  moderation, 
integrity,  and  valor  ;  not  rendered  savage  or 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  213 

austere  by  the  sight  of  so  much  bloodshed  and 
of  so  many  forms  of  death ;  but  inclined  to 
justice,  to  a  reverence  of  the  Deit}",  to  a  sym- 
pathy with  human  sufferings,  and  animated,  for 
the  preservation  of  iibert}^,  with  a  zeal  strength- 
ened by  the  hazards  which,  for  its  sake,  they 
have  encountered — men  not  raked  together 
from  the  dregs  of  our  own  or  of  a  foreign  pop- 
ulation, not  a  band  of  mercenary  adventurers, 
but  men  chiefly  of  superior  condition;  in  ex- 
traction noble  or  reputable;  with  respect  to 
property  considerable  or  competent,  or,  in  some 
instances,  deriving  a  stronger  claim  to  our  re- 
gard even  from  their  poverty  itself — men  not 
convened  by  the  lust  of  plunder,  but,  in  times 
of  extreme  difficulty,  amid  circumstances  gen- 
erally doubtful,  and  often  almost  desperate, 
excited  to  vindicate  their  country  from  op- 
pression ;  and  prompt,  not  only  in  the  safe- 
ty of  the  senate-house  to  wage  the  war  of 
words,  but  to  join  battle  with  the  enemy  on 
the  field. 

"If  we  will  then  renounce  the  idleness  of 
never-ending  and  fallacious  expectation,  I  see 
not  in  whom,  if  not  in  such  as  these,  we  can 


214  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

])lace  reliance  and  trnst.  Of  their  fidklity  we 
have  the  surest  and  most  indisputable  proof,  in 
the  readiness  which  they  have  discovered  even 
to  die,  if  it  had  been  their  lot,  in  the  cause  of 
their  country;  of  their  piety,  in  the  devotion 
with  which,  having  repeatedl}'  and  successfully 
implored  the  protection  of  heaven,  they  uni- 
formly ascribed  the  glory  to  Him  from  whom 
they  had  solicited  the  victory ;  of  their  justice, 
in  their  not  exempting  even  their  king  from 
trial  or  from  execution ;  of  their  moderation, 
in  our  own  experience,  and  in  the  certainty 
that  if  their  violence  should  disturb  the  peace 
which  they  have  established,  they  would  them- 
selves be  the  first  to  feel  the  resulting  mis- 
chiefs, themselves  would  receive  the  first 
wounds  in  their  own  bodies,  while  they  were 
again  doomed  to  struggle  for  all  their  fortunes 
and  honors  now  happily  secured  ;  of  their  for- 
titude, lastly,  in  that  none  ever  recovered 
their  liberty  with  more  bravery  or  eflfect,  to 
give  us  the  assurance  that  none  will  ever  watch 
over  it  with  more  solicitous  attention  and 
care."* 

*  Prose  Works,  Vol.  V.,  p.  259. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  215 

Milton  closed  the  "Second  Defence"  Avith 
this  dignified  and  pathetic  address : 

"For  myself,  whatever  may  be  the  final 
result,  such  efforts  as  in  my  judgment  were 
the  most  likely  to  be  beneficial  to  the  Common- 
wealth I  have  made  without  reluctance,  though 
not,  as  I  trust,  without  effect.  I  have  wielded 
my  weapons  for  liberty  not  only  in  our  domes- 
tic scene,  but  on  a  far  more  extensive  theatre, 
that  the  justice  and  the  principle  of  our  extra- 
ordinarj^  actions,  explained  and  vindicated  both 
at  home  and  abroad,  and  rooted  in  the  general 
approbation  of  the  good,  might  be  unquestion- 
ably established,  as  well  for  the  honor  of  my 
compatriots  as  for  precedents  to  posterity. 

"That  the  conclusion  prove  not  unworthy 
of  such  a  commencement,  be  it  my  country- 
men's to  provide;  it  has  been  mine  to  deliver 
a  testimony,  I  had  almost  said  to  erect  a  mon- 
ument, which  will  not  soon  deca}^,  to  deeds  of 
greatness  and  of  glory  almost  transcending  hu- 
man panegyric.  And  if  I  have  accomplished 
nothing  further,  I  have  assuredly  discharged 
the  whole  of  my  engagement. 

"As  a  bard  however  who  is  denominated 


216  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

epic,  if  he  conriiic  liis  work  a  little  within  cer- 
tain canons  of  composition,  proposes  to  himself, 
for  a  subject  of  poetical  embellishment,  not  the 
whole  life  of  his  hero,  but  some  single  action, 
such  as  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  the  return  of 
Ul^^sses,  or  the  arrival  in  Italy  of  ^neas,  and 
takes  no  notice  of  the  rest  of  his  conduct ;  so 
will  it  suffice  either  to  form  my  vindication  or 
to  satisfy  my  duty,  that  I  have  recorded  in 
heroic  narrative  one  only  of  my  fellow-citi- 
zen's achievements.  The  rest  I  omit;  for  who 
can  declare  all  the  actions  of  an  entire  people? 
"If,  after  such  valiant  exploits,  you  fall 
into  gross  delinquency,  and  perpetrate  any 
thing  unworthy  of  j'ourselves,  posterity  will 
not  fail  to  discuss  and  to  pronounce  sentence 
on  the  disgraceful  deed.  The  foundation  they 
will  allow  indeed  to  have  been  firmly  laid,  and 
the  first — na}',  more  than  the  first — parts  of  the 
superstructure  to  have  been  erected  with  suc- 
cess, but  with  anguish  they  will  regret  that 
there  were  none  found  to  carry  it  forward  to 
completion;  that  such  an  enterprise  and  such 
virtues  were  not  crowned  with  perseverance; 
that  a  rich  harvest  of  glory  and  abundant  ma- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  217 

terials  for  heroic  achievement  were  prepared, 
bnt  that  men  were  wanting  to  the  illnstrious 
opportiinit}^,  while  there  wanted  not  a  man  to 
instruct,  to  urge,  to  stimulate  to  action — a  man 
who  could  Call  fame  as  well  upon  the  acts  as 
the  actors,  and  could  spread  their  names  over 
lands  and  seas  to  the  admiration  of  all  future 
ages."* 

The  effect  produced  b}"  the  publication  of 
the  "Second  Defence"  was  profound.  The 
presses  employed  in  its  issue  could  not  keep 
pace  with  the  popular  demand  for  it,  and  it 
served  to  raise  John  Milton  still  higher,  if 
that  were  possible,  in  the  estimation  of  the 
republicans  and  the  scholars  of  that  epoch. 

Milton's  friend  and  assistant,  Andrew  Mar- 
vcll,  presented  a  copy  of  the  work  to  the  Lord 
Protector,  with  the  compliments  of  the  author. 

Terribly  galled  by  the  crushing  force  and 
sarcasm  of  Milton's  "Second  Defence,"  Alex- 
ander Morus,  w^ho  had  been  mistaken  by  the 
great  Englishman  for  the  author  of  the  pamph- 
let to  which  his  work  was  an  answer, f  ven- 

*  Prose  W^orks,  Vol.  V.,    p.  2G6. 

\  The  real  author  was  a  Frencliman  named  Dii  Moulin,  ■who, 

Jlllton.  10 


218  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

turcd  to  piiblisli  a  book  which  he  called  "  Fides 
Piiblica,'-  or  Public  Faith.  Milton  rejoined  by 
writing  his  ''  Defencio  Pro,''  or  defence  of  him- 
self, in  which  he  handled  his  unfortunate  ad- 
versary with  the  most  extreme  severity.  This 
was  published  in  1655.  Apparently  in  the 
same  year,  Morus  printed  a  ''  SuppJemenhan" 
which  was  speedil}'  silenced  by  a  brief  "i?e- 
sponsio'''  from  Milton,  in  which  poor  Morus 
was  again  so  riddled  and  ridiculed  that  he 
gladl}'  retired  into  obscurity,  leaving  Milton 
in  undisputed  possession  of  the  field.  Thus 
closed  a  long  and  bitter  controvers}',  in  which 
Milton  had  fairly  earned,  and  then  wore  by 
general  consent,  the  proud  title  of  "the  peo- 
ple's champion  and  conqueror.'' 

fearful  of  exposing  his  own  head  to  ililton's  literary  hatchet,  per- 
Biiaded  More,  or  ilorus,  in  an  luihapjiy  moment,  to  publish  and 
father  it. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON  219 


CHAPTER   XV. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  famous  controver- 
sy with  Salmasius,  and  of  those  collateral  ones 
which  had  grown  out  of  that  central  literary 
combat,  Milton  for  a  time  laid  aside  his  polem- 
ical pen,  and  devoted  himself  to  his  private 
studies  and  the  duties  of  his  office.  He  does 
not  appear  to  have  been  very  frequent  in  his 
attendance  upon  the  government.  This  is 
shown  by  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  his  to  a 
young  friend  who  had  solicited  his  influence  in 
obtaining  the  office  of  secretary  to  the  English 
ambassador  in  Holland :  "  I  am  grieved  that  it 
is  not  in  my  power  to  serve  you  on  this  point, 
inasmuch  as  I  have  very  few  familiarities  with 
the  gratiosi  of  the  court,  who  keep  myself  al- 
most wholly  at  home,  and  am  willing  to  do  so." 

His  absence  from  the  public  councils  was 
owing  to  no  political  dissatisfaction,  but  to  his 
blindness  and  ill-health.  His  good  friend  and 
assistant,  Andrew  Marvell,*  probably  perform- 

*  Andre-w  Marvell  was  born  in  1620,  in  the  town  of  Hull,  where 
his  father  was  settled  as  vicar.     He  was  early  distingiiished  for  his 


220  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ed  the  routine  duties  of  the  secretaryship,  Mil- 
ton being  consulted  only  in  regard  to  the  more 
important  foreign  questions  and  imbroglios. 
Although  he  was  thus  eased  of  the  more  oner- 
ous burdens  of  his  office,  his  diplomatic  pen 
was  still  kept  quite  busy.  In  1055  he  wrote 
the  elegant  and  forcible  manifesto  issued  by 
the  Protector  in  justification  of  his  war  with 
Spain.  In  this  same  year  he  published,  under 
the  title  of  ''The  Cabinet  Council,"  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh's  manuscript  of  aphorisms  on  the  art 
of  government.  A  little  previous  to  the  pro- 
duction of  these  compositions,  he  addressed 

talents  aud  aj^petite  for  learning,  being  sent  at  the  early  age  of 
thirteen  to  Cambridge  University.  Possessed  of  ample  fortune,  he 
made  a  toiir  of  the  Continent,  tivn-jing  some  time  at  Constantinople 
in  the  capacity  of  Secretary  to  the  British  embassy  at  the  Turkish 
court.  Ardently  wedded  to  the  libcnd  and  Puritan  party,  shortly 
after  his  return  to  England,  he  attached  himself  to  the  fortunes  of 
Cromwell,  by  whom  he  was,  in  KioT,  associated  with  ^klilton  in  the 
Latin  secretfiryship.  In  the  Parliament  summoned  just  before  the 
Kestoration,  he  represented  his  native  town,  and  though  not  sin- 
gularly eloquent,  he  played  in  its  debates  aud  plans  a  prominent 
part.  Learned,  moral,  and  sedate,  he  preserved  through  his  life 
the  respect  of  the  court  partj',  and  the  aflection  of  his  friends. 
Himself  no  inconsiderable  author,  his  various  writings  were  then 
highly  esteemed  and  eagerly  sought.  His  pen  was  on  more  than 
one  occasion  wielded  in  the  defence  of  his  immortal  friend,  John 
Milton.  He  died  in  1078,  in  his  fifty-eighth  year.  As  he  was  ap- 
parently in  vigorous  health  at  the  time  of  his  decease,  his  death 
was  attributed  to  the  effect  of  poison. 

niCO.   BHIT.,  ARTICLE,  "MARVELL.* 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  221 

some  eulogistic  verses  to  the  eccentric  Chris- 
tiana, queen  of  Sweden,  sending  them  in  the 
name  of  Cromwell. 

Milton  now  spent  most  of  his  leisure  hours 
in  the  prosecution  of  three  literar}^  projects : 
the  composition  of  his  history  of  England,  of 
which  mention  has  been  already  made,  the 
compilation  of  a  Latin  dictionary,   which  he 
left  in  too  undigested  a  state  for  publication, 
though  the   materials  which  he    accumulated 
were  advantageously  employed  by  the  editors 
of  the  Cambridge  dictionary  in  later  years,* 
and  in  the  perfection  of  the  plan  and  the  lay- 
ing of  the  groundwork  of  his  immortal  epic. 
"Some  great  production  in  the  highest  region 
of  poetry  had  been,  as  we  have  observed,  in 
his    contemplation   from    the    commencement 
nearly  of  his  literary  life.     The  idea  accompa- 
nied him  to  Italy,  where,  with  a  more  defined 
object,  it  acquired  a  more  certain  shape  from 
the  example  of  Tasso,  and  the  conversation  of 
Tasso's  friend,   the  accomplished  Marquis  of 
Villa.    From  this  moment  it  seems  to  have  been 
immovably  fastened  in  his  mind;  and  though 

•  Symmons'  Life,  pp.  403,  404.     Todd's  Life,  p.  97. 


222  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

for  a  season  oppressed  and  overwhelmed  by  the 
incumbent  duties  of  controversy,  its  root  was 
full  of  life  and  })regnant  with  stately  vegeta- 
tion. At  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking, 
the  end  of  1653  and  the  beginning  of  1654, 
the  mighty  work,  according  to  Phillips,  was 
seriously  undertaken ;  and  it  is  curious  to  re- 
flect on  the  steadiness  of  its  growth  under  a 
complication  of  adverse  circumstances ;  and  to 
see  it,  like  a  pine  on  the  rocks  of  Norway,  as- 
cending to  its  majestic  elevation  beneath  the 
inclemency  of  a  dreary  sky,  and  assailed  in 
the  same  moment  by  the  fury  of  the  ocean  at 
its  feet  and  the  power  of  the  tempest  above  its 
bead."''' 

It  may  also  be  noticed  as  a  proof  of  Mil- 
ton's indefatigable  studiousness,  that  he  had 
collected  all  the  important  state  papers  from 
the  death  of  the  king  to  the  year  1658 — prob- 
ably with  a  view  to  render  them  easily  ac- 
cessible to  the  future  historian  of  his  times. f 
These  rested  in  manuscript  form  until  1743, 
when  they  were  published  under  the  title  of 
"  Original  Letters  and  Pajiers  of  State,  address- 

*  Symmons'  Life,  pp.  404,  405.  t  Todd's  Life,  p.  97. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  223 

ed  to  Oliver  Cromwell,  concerning  the  Affairs  of 
Great  Britain,  from  the  year  1649  to  1658. 
Found  among  the  Political  Collections  of  Mr. 
John  Milton,  now  first  published  from  the  origi- 
nals, hy  John  Nicholls,  Jr.,  memher  of  the  Socie- 
ty of  Antiquarians,  London^  This  collection 
is  singularly  interesting,  as  read  by  the  eyes 
of  this  generation,  and  abounds  in  curious 
data,  anecdotal,  historical,  and  biographical, 
together  with  several  addresses  to,  and  por- 
traits of,  the  prominent  supporters  of  what 
Milton  fondly  calls,  :77ie  good  old  cause'f^ 

It  was  in  1654  that  Cromwell  raised  him- 
self and  the  Commonwealth  to  the  highest  pin- 
nacle of  earthly  honor,  by  his  famous  interven- 
tion in  behalf  of  menaced  Protestantism  on  the 
Continent.  As  Milton  was  the  mouth  of  the 
Lord  Protector  on  this  occasion,  a  sketch  of 
Cromwell's  noble  zeal,  its  cause  and  result, 
will  come  legitimately  within  the  purview  of 
the  great  Secretary's  life. 

"The  Duke  of  Savoy,"  saj^s  the  author  of 
the  Critical  History  of  England,  "raised  a 
new   persecution  of  the  Yaudois,  massacring 

*  See  Iklilton's  Prose  Works,  ed.  1698,  Vol.  II.,  p.  797. 


224  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

man}',  and  driving  the  rest  from  their  lial)ita- 
tions.  Wherefore  Cromwell  sent  to  the  Fi-ench 
court,  demanding  of  them  to  oblige  that  duke, 
(of  Alva,)  whom  he  knew  to  he  in  their  power, 
to  put  a  stop  to  his  unjust  fury,  or  otherwise 
he  must  break  with  them.  The  cardinal,  Ma- 
zarini,  objected  to  this  as  unreasonable.  lie 
would  do  good  offices,  he  said,  but  could  not 
answer  for  the  effects.  However,  nothing 
would  satisfy  the  Protector  till  they  obliged 
the  duke  to  restore  all  he  had  taken  from  his 
Protestant  subjects,  and  to  renew  their  former 
privileges. 

"  Cromwell  wrote*  on  this  occasion  to  the 
Duke  of  Alva  himself,  and  by  mistake  omit- 
ted the  title  of  'Royal  Highness'  on  his  let- 
ter ;  upon  which  the  major  part  of  the  Council 
of  Savoy  were  for  returning  it  unopened;  but 
one,  representing  that  Cromwell  would  not 
pass  by  such  an  affront,  but  would  certainly 
lay  Yilla  Franca  in  ashes,  and  set  the  Swiss 
cantons  upon  Savoy,  with  Cardinal  Mazarini's 
influence,  had  the  desired  effect.  The  Pro- 
tector also  raised  money  in  England  for  the 

•  Through  Milton. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  225 

poor  sufferers,  and  sent  an  agent  over  to  settle 
their  afifairs.'' 

This  picture  makes  the  blood  tingle  in  our 
veins,  as  we  recall  the  paltry  and  selfish  part 
which  England  had  stooped  to  play  in  tlie 
Titanic  religious  wars  of  Continental  Europe 
during  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth,  James,  and 
Charles.  Cromwell  and  the  Puritans  were 
made  of  sterner  stuff.  Not  satisfied  with  hav- 
ing achieved  freedom  and  toleration  for  them- 
selves at  home,  thej^  were  also  zealous  to  be- 
stow the  same  beneficent  boon  upon  suffering 
mankind,  and  woe  betide  the  despot  or  the 
priest  who  ventured  to  rattle  a  secular  or  relig- 
ious chain  within  the  hearing  of  the  Puritan 
government  of  England  in  the  iron  daj^s  of  the 
Commonwealth. 

Sir  Samuel  Morland,  the  English  ambassa- 
dor who  was  dispatched  to  Piedmont  by  the 
Lord  Protector,  carried  with  him  a  contribu- 
tion amounting  to  thirt}— eight  thousand  two 
hundred  forty-one  pounds  sterling,  or  about 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  which  had  been 
specially  takefl  up  for  the  Vaudois  in  the 
churches  of  G-reat  Britain.     Cromwell  himself 

10* 


226  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

headed  the  subscription  with  £2,000,  or  ten 
thousand  dollars.* 

Morland  afterwards  published  a  history  of 
the  crusade  against  the  Yaudois,  which  the 
Protector's  noble  intervention  had  stopped, 
and  illustrated  his  narrative  with  engravings 
of  some  of  the  most  revolting  and  barbarous 
scenes  wdiich  ever  harrowed  the  human  heart. 
Upon  these  representations  Milton  founded  his 
inimitable  sonnet  entitled, 

"OX  THE   LATE   MASSACRE   IN  PIEDMONT. 

'Avenge,  0  Lord,  thy  slaughtered  saints,  whose  bonea 
Lie  scattered  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold  ; 
Even  them  who  kept  thy  faith  so  pure  of  old, 
When  nil  our  fathers  worshipped  stocks  and  stones, 
Forget  not ;  in  thy  book  record  their  groans 
WTio  were  thy  sheej),  and  in  their  ancient  fold 
Slain  by  the  bloody  Piedmontese,  that  rolled 
Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.     Their  moans 

The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  heaven.     Their  martyred  blood  and  ashes  sow 
O'er  all  the  It<ilian  fields,  where  still  doth  grow 
A  hundred  fold,  who,  ha\'ing  learned  thy  way. 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe." 

In  speaking  of  the  compassion  and  zeal  of 
Cromwell  upon  this  occasion,  Morland  says, 
"Having  upon  his  spirit  a  deep  sense  of  their 

•  Morland's  History  of  the  Evang.  Churches  in  the  Valley  of 
Piedmont,  1658,  pp.  584-593. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  227 

calamities,  which  were  occasioned  by  their 
faithful  adherence  to  the  profession  of  the  re- 
formed religion,  he  was  pleased  not  only  to 
mediate  by  most  pathetic  letters  on  their  behalf 
to  the  King  of  France  and  Duke  of  Savoy,  but 
did  also  seriouslj^  invite  the  people  of  England 
to  seek  the  Lord  by  prayer  and  humiliation,  in 
reference  to  their  thus  sad  condition  and  future 
life.'"* 

These  "pathetic  letters"  to  the  King  of 
France  and  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  together  with 
others  of  similar  spirit  and  purpose  addressed 
to  the  various  European  governments.  Catholic 
and  Protestant,  in  protest  against  the  Yaudois 
crusade,  emanated  from  the  brain  of  Milton,  if 
they  were  not  written  by  his  hand.  He  there- 
fore partakes  of  the  high  honor  of  rescuing  the 
unhappy  Yaudois,  whose  smiling  valleys  had 
been  twice  harried,  from  the  fangs  of  the  Ro- 
man see. 

Of  "the  notable  effects  of  the  intercession 
of  His  Highness  for  the  poor  distressed  Prot- 
estants of  the  valleys  of  Piedmont  upon  the 
spirits  of  the  neighboring  princes  and  states  of 

*  Morland's  History,  p.  585. 


228  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

the  Protestant  profession,"*  Morland  assures 
us  in  his  history  of  that  tragic  episode. 

B}'  their  spirited  and  efficacious  interven- 
tion, both  Cromwell  and  Milton  wove  for  them- 
selves garlands  of  imperishable  honor;  while 
libert}'  stands  by  approvingly'  through  the  mist 
of  ages,  and  shouts,  "  Amen.  AVcll  done,  good 
and  faithful  servants." 

•  Morland's  History,  p.  597. 


Note.  Those  who  may  choose  to  study  this  intercession  at 
large,  together  with  Milton's  letters  to  the  Continental  jjowei-s,  wiU 
find  the  necessarj'  data  in  Milton's  state  papers,  mentioned  in  the 
above  chapter,  or  in  Ivimey's  Life  of  Milton,  or  in  the  singularly 
complete  life  of  the  Latin  Secretary  lately  ^v^itten  by  David-  Mas- 
son,  and  i^ubUshed  in  Boston  in  1859. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  229 


CHAPTER   XYI. 

In  September  of  1658,  after  a  reign  of  sin- 
gular firmness  and  ability,  during  which  the 
English  Commonwealth  had  led  and  shaped 
European  politics,  the  remarkable,  checkered, 
yet,  upon  the  whole,  beneficent  career  of  Oli- 
ver Cromwell,  the  mighty  Lord  Protector,  was 
closed  by  his  sickness  and  death. 

Instantly  the  heterogeneous  elements  which 
had  been  moulded  into  apparent  homogeneity 
by  the  strategic  and  powerful  hand  of  Crom- 
well, began  to  ferment;  and  the  nation  soon 
learned  to  regret  the  loss  of  one  whose  vigor- 
ous authority  had  repressed  those  fatal  confu- 
sions to  which  they  now  fell  a  prey. 

Richard  Cromwell,  the  son  of  the  Protec- 
tor, who  had  assumed  the  Protectorate  upon 
the  death  of  his  father,  appalled  by  the  stormy 
atmosphere  of  the  time,  and  keenly  aware  of 
his  inability  to  control  the  hour,  after  an  inef- 
ficient reign  of  nine  months,  laid  down  his 
sceptre,  and  retired  into  that  obscurity  which 
he  was  best  fitted  to  adorn. 


230  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Meantime  the  anarchy  into  which  tlie  na- 
tion IkuI  la})sccl  coiitiniKMl  to  increase.  The 
council  of  officers,  headed  by  Desborongli  and 
Fleetwood,  upon  the  abdication  of  Richard 
Cromwell,  summoned  the  relics  of  the  famous 
Long  Parliament,  which  still  legally'  existed, 
having  never  been  prorogued  by  a  competent 
authority,  to  reassume  the  guidance  of  the 
Commonwealth. 

The  Parliament  convened  upon  this  invi- 
tation, and  displaying  its  old-time  energy  and 
executive  talent,  speed ilj^  excited  the  jealous}' 
of  the  tyrannical  army,  which  erelong  once 
more  forcibly  ended  its  sittings. 

The  Presbyterians,  discontented  since  the 
triumph  of  the  Independents,  instead  of  at- 
tempting to  smother  the  flames  of  confusion, 
fanned  the  fire,  and  openl}'  united  themselves 
with  the  Royalists. 

It  was  at  this  alarming  crisis  that  Milton, 
drawn  once  more  from  his  retirement  by  the 
voice  of  patriotism,  addressed  to  the  Parlia- 
ment two  treatises,  one  called  "J.  Treatise  of 
the  Civil  Power  in  Ecclesiastical  flatter s,^'  which 
he  wrote  because  of  his  apprehension  of  re- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  231 

turning  intolerance  from  the  increasing  influ- 
ence of  the  Presbj'terians ;  the  other  was  of 
somewhat  similar  scope  and  purpose,  "  Consid- 
erations Touching  the  Likeliest  Means  to  Remove 
Hirelings  out  of  the  Church,^^  in  which  he  argued 
with  masterly  and  incontrovertible  power  for 
the  complete  separation  and  independence  of 
church  and  state. 

His  definition  of  evangelical  religion  in 
the  first  of  these  treatises  is  terse  and  admi- 
rable: "What  evangelical  religion  is,  is  told 
in  two  words,  faith  and  charity,  or  belief  and 
practice,  and  that  both  of  these  flow  either 
the  one  from  the  understanding,  the  other 
from  the  will,  or  both  jointly  from  both ;  once 
indeed  naturall}^  free,  but  now  only  as  they 
are  regenerate  and  wrought  on  by  Divine 
grace,  is  in  part  evident  to  common  sense  and 
principles  unquestioned;  the  rest  b}^  Scrip- 
ture." 

The  treatise  on  the  "  Removal  of  Hirelings 
out  of  the  Church,"  and  urging  that  to  each 
congregation  be  left  the  support  of  its  own 
pastor,  instead  of  maintaining  the  expensive 
and    aristocratic    ecclesiastical    establishment 


232  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

then  kept  up  b}'  the  collection  of  tithes,  thus 
concludes : 

"Of  which  hireling  crew,  together  with 
all  the  mischiefs,  dissensions,  troubles,  wars, 
merely  of  their  own  kindling,  Christendom 
might  soon  rid  herself  and  be  happy,  if  Chris- 
tians would  but  know  their  own  dignity,  their 
liberty,  their  adoption,  and  let  it  not  be  won- 
dered if  I  say  their  own  spiritual  priesthood, 
whereby  they  have  all  equal  access  to  any  min- 
isterial functions  whenever  called  by  their  own 
abilities  to  the  church,  though  they  never  came 
near  commencements  or  university. 

"But  while  Protestants,  to  avoid  the  due 
labors  of  understanding  their  own  religion,  are 
content  to  lodge  it  in  their  books  or  in  the  breast 
of  a  state  clergyman,  and  to  take  it  thence  by 
scraps  and  mammocks,  as  he  dispenses  it  in 
his  Sunda}^  dole,  they  will  be  always  learning 
and  never  knowing;  always  infants;  alwaj's 
either  his  vassals,  as  lay  papists  are  to  their 
priests,  or  at  odds  with  him,  as  reformed  prin- 
ciples give  them  some  light  to  be  not  wholly- 
conformable ;  whence  infinite  disturbances  in 
the  state,  as  they  do,  must  needs  follow. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  233 

"  Thus  much  I  had  to  say,  and  I  su|)pose 
what  may  be  enough  to  those  wlio  are  not  ava- 
riciously bent  otherwise,  touching  the  likeliest 
means  to  get  hirelings  out  of  the  church  ;  than 
which  nothing  can  more  conduce  to  truth,  to 
peace,  and  all  happiness,  both  in  church  and 
state.  If  I  be  not  heard  and  believed,  the 
event  will  bear  me  witness  to  have  spoken 
truth ;  and  I  in  the  mean  while  have  borne 
me  witness,  not  out  of  season,  to  the  church 
and  my  country."* 

Unhappily  the  nation,  maddened  by  the 
cries  of  faction  and  given  over  to  anarchy,  was 
in  no  mood  to  listen  to,  or  heed  the  sober 
words  and  the  warning  expostulations  of  its 
great  monitor.  Still  Milton's  fresh  appearance 
as  a  political  writer,  after  his  lengthened  with- 
drawal from  public  observation,  was  peculiarly 
gratifying  to  his  old  republican  admirers,  some 
of  whom  had  suspected  him  of  alienation  from 
their  cause  since  his  repose  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Protectoral  government.  These  writ- 
ings however  proved  his  consistency,  and  show- 
ed him  to  be  still  the  Milton  of  old  times,  and 

*  Prose  Works. 


234  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ardently  as  ever  wedded  to  the   "good  old 
cause." 

In  a  letter  addressed  to  him,  upon  the  pub- 
lication of  the  treatise  on  the  civil  power  in 
ecclesiastical  matters,  a  Mr.  Wall  of  Causham, 
under  date  of  May  29,  1659,  saj's,  "I  confess 
I  have  even  in  my  privacy  in  the  countrj-^  oft 
had  thoughts  of  you,  and  that  with  much  res- 
pect for  3'our  friendship  to  truth  in  your  early 
years,  and  in  bad  times.  But  I  was  uncertain 
whether  your  relation  to  the  court,  though  I 
think  that  a  commonwealth  was  more  friendly 
to  you  than  a  court,  had  not  clouded  your  form- 
er light ;  but  3^our  last  book  resolved  that 
doubt.  "==' 

Meanwhile  the  general  disorder  found  no 
hand  competent  to  quell  it,  and  the  disorgani- 
zation grew  apace. 

Milton,  grieved,  disquieted,  and  alarmed  by 
the  confusion  of  parties,  and  indignant  at  the 
outrages  of  the  army,  collected  his  faculties,  and 
made  one  more  desperate  and  almost  despair- 
ing effort  to  retrieve  the  political  situation,  pub- 

•  Birche's  Life  of  Milton,  p.  42.     Prose  Works,  Vol.  11.,  p.  388 
Symmons'  Life,  pp.  415,  41 G. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  235 

lishing  ill  1659  his  celebrated  pamphlet  en- 
titled, ''  The  Heady  and  Easy  Way  to  establish  a 
Free  Commonwealth"  which  he  sadly  hoped 
might  not  contain  "  the  last  words  of  expiring 
liberty." 

This  he  addressed  to  General  Monk,  then 
governor  of  Scotland  and  commander  of  the 
Puritan  army  in  that  kingdom,  to  which  posts 
he  had  been  promoted  by  Cromwell. 

The  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth  is  sadly 
grand,  and  its  eloquence  is  full  of  tears.  In  it 
Milton  says, 

"  The  Parliament  of  England,  assisted  by  a 
great  number  of  the  people  who  appeared  and 
stuck  to  them  faithfully  in  defence  of  religion 
and  their  civil  liberties,  judging  kingship  by 
long  experience  a  government  unnecessary'', 
burdensome,  and  dangerous,  justly  and  magnan- 
imously abolished  it,  turning  regal  bondage 
into  a  free  Commonwealth,  to  the  admiration 
and  terror  of  our  emulous  neighbors.  They 
took  themselves  not  bound  by  the  light  of  na- 
ture or  religion  to  any  former  covenant,  from 
which  the  king  himself,  by  many  forfeitures  of 
a  latter  date  or  discovery,  and  our  own  long 


236  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

consideration  thereon,  luul  more  and  more  un- 
bound Us  both  to  himself  and  liis  jKjsterity,  as 
hath  been  ever  the  justice  and  prudence  of  all 
wise  nations  that  have  ejected  tyranny. 

^'They  covenanted  to  preserve  the  king's  person 
and  authority,  in  the  preservation  of  true  religion 
and  our  liberties;  not  in  his  endeavoring  to 
bring  in  upon  our  consciences  a  popish  relig- 
ion, upon  our  liberties  thraldom,  upon  our 
lives  destruction  b}^  his  occasioning  if  not 
complotting,  as  was  afterwards  discovered,  the 
Irish  massacre ;  his  fomenting  and  arming  the 
rebellion;  his  covert  league  with  the  rebels 
against  ns ;  his  refusing  more  than  seven  tfmes 
propositions  most  just  and  necessary'  to  the 
true  religion  and  our  liberties,  tendered  him 
by  the  Parliament  both  of  England  and  Scot- 
land." 

Passing  then  to  another  consideration,  he 
asks  indignantly  if  the  Commonwealth  be  a 
failure?  "And  what  will  the}^  at  best  say  of 
us,  and  of  the  whole  English  name,  but  scof- 
fingly,  as  of  that  foolish  builder  mentioned  b}'- 
our  Saviour,  who  began  to  build  a  tower,  and 
was  not  able  to  finish  it.    Where  is  this  goodly 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  237 

tower  of  a  Commonwealth,  which  Ihe  English 
began  to  build?" 

He  then  urgently  remonstrates  with  the 
nation  in  regard  to  its  proposed  invitation  to 
Charles  Stuart  to  ascend  the  rebuilt  throne ; 
showing  vividly  and  prophetically  what  a 
wretched  tide  of  lewdness  and  profanity  would 
overwhelm  the  state  upon  the  restoration  of 
the  reckless  and  outlawed  libertine  who  was 
even  at  that  critical  hour  lapped  in  the  em- 
braces of  his  continental  mistresses,  or  else 
engaged  in  the  fitting  and  congenial  pursuit  of 
hunting;  in  the  bogs  of  France. 

Next  passing  to  the  consideration  of  other 
matters,  he  shows  "wherein  freedom  and  a 
flourishing  condition  would  be  more  ample  and 
secure  to  England  under  a  Commonwealth 
than  under  a  kingship."  "Admitting  that 
monarchy  may  be  convenient  to  some  nations," 
he  warns  England  to  beware  of  it;  for  the  re- 
made king,  not  forgetting  his  former  ejection, 
will  arm  and  fortify  himself  against  all  similar 
attempts  in  future.  The  people  would  then  be 
"so  narrowly  watched  and  kept  so  low,  that 
though   they  would   never  so  fain,  and  at  tlie 


238  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

same  rate  of  tljcir  blood  and  treasure,  they 
never  shall  be  able  to  regain  Avliat  they  now 
have  purchased  and  may  enjoy,  or  to  free 
themselves  from  any  yoke  imposed  upon  them : 
nor  will  they  dare  to  go  about  it,  utterly  dis- 
heartened for  the  future,  if  these  their  highest 
attempts  prove  unsuccessful:  which  will  be 
the  triumph  of  all  tyrants  hereafter  over  any 
people  that  shall  resist  oppression ;  and  their 
song  shall  then  be,  to  others.  How  sped  the  re- 
bellious English?  to  our  posterity.  How  sped 
the  rebels  your  fathers  ?" 

Among  other  disabilities  sure  to  be  inaugu- 
rated with  a  monarchy,  he  places  the  shaclding 
of  conscience:  "This  liberty  of  conscience, 
which,  above  all  other  things,  ought  to  be  to  all 
men  dearest  and  most  precious,  no  government 
is  more  inclinable,  not  to  favor  onl}',  but  to 
protect,  than  a  free  Commonwealth;  as  being 
most  magnanimous,  most  fearless,  and  confident 
of  its  own  fair  proceedings.  Whereas  king- 
ship, though  looking  big,  is  yet  indeed  most 
pusillanimous,  full  of  fears,  full  of  jealousies, 
starting  at  every  umbrage.  As  it  hath  been 
observed  of  all  to  have  ever  suspected  most 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  239 

and  mistrusted  those  who  were  in  most  esteem 
for  virtue  and  generosity  of  mind ;  so  it  is  now 
known  to  have  most  in  doubt  and  suspicion 
those  wdio  are  most  reputed  to  be  religious. 

"Queen  Elizabeth,  though  herself  account- 
ed so  good  a  Protestant,  so  moderate,  so  con- 
fident of  her  subjects'  love,  would  never  give 
way  so  much  as  to  Presbyterian  reformation 
in  this  land,  though  once  and  again  besought, 
as  Camden  relates ;  but  imprisoned  and  perse- 
cuted the  very  proposers  thereof,  alleging  it 
as  her  mind  and  maxim  unalterable,  that  such 
reformation  wbald  diminish  regal  authorit}^ 

"What  liberty  of  conscience  can  we  then 
expect  of  others,  far  worse  principled  from  the 
cradle,  trained  up  and  governed  b}'  popish  and 
Spanish  counsels,  and  on  such  depending  hith- 
erto for  subsistence  ?" 

Milton's  treatise  concludes  with  these 
weighty  and  prophetic  w^ords : 

"I  have  no  more  to  say  at  present:  few 
words  will  save  us,  .well  considered ;  few  and 
easy  things,  now  seasonably  done. 

"But  if  the  people  be  so  affected  as  to 
prostitute  religion  and  liberty  to  the  vain  and 


240  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

groundless  apprelicnsiou  that  nothing  but  king- 
ship can  restore  trade,  not  remembering  the 
frequent  plagues  and  pestilences  that  then 
wasted  this  cit}',  such  as  through  God's  mercy 
we  have  never  felt  since;  and  that  trade  flour- 
ishes nowhere  more  than  in  the  free  common- 
wealths of  Italy,  German}',  and  the  Low  Coun- 
tries, before  their  e5'es  at  this  da}' ;  yet  if  trade 
be  grown  so  craving  and  importunate  through 
the  profuse  living  of  tradesmen,  that  nothing 
can  support  it  but  the  luxurious  expenses  of  a 
nation  upon  trifles  or  superfluities;  so  as  if  the 
people  generally  should  betake  themselves  to 
frugality,  it  might  prove  a  dangerous  mafter, 
lest  tradesmen  should  mutiny  for  want  of  trad- 
ing ;  and  that  therefore  we  must  forego  and 
set  to  sale  religion,  libert}',  honor,  safety,  all 
concernments,  divine  and  human,  to  keep  up 
trading:  if,  lastl}',  after  all  this  light  among 
us,  the  same  reason  shall  pass  for  current  to 
put  our  necks  again  under  kingship  as  was 
made  use  of  by  the  Jews  to  return  back  to 
Egypt,  and  to  the  worship  of  their  idol  queen, 
because  they  falsely  imagined  that  they  then 
lived  in  more  plenty  and  prosperity- — our  con- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  241* 

clition  is  not  sound,  bnt  rotten,  both  in  relig- 
ion and  all  civil  prudence,  and  will  bring  us 
soon,  the  way  we  are  marching,  to  those  calam- 
ities which  attend  always  and  unavoidably  on 
luxury,  all  national  judgments  under  foreign 
and  domestic  slavery ;  so  far  we  shall  be  from 
mending  our  condition  by  monarchizing  our 
government,  whatever  new  conceit  now  pos- 
sesses us, 

"However,  with  all  hazard  I  have  ven- 
tured, what  I  thought  my  duty,  to  speak  in 
season,  and  to  forewarn  my  country  in  time; 
wherein  I  doubt  not  but  there  be  man}^  wise 
men  in  all  places  and  degrees,  but  am  sorry 
the  effects  of  wisdom  are  so  little  seen  among  us. 

"Many  circumstances  and  particulars  are  in 
those  things  whereof  I  have  spoken,  but  a  few 
main  matters  now  put  speedily  in  execution, 
will  suffice  to  recover  us,  and  set  all  right;  and 
there  will  want  at  no  time  those  who  are  good 
at  circumstances ;  but  men  who  set  their  minds 
on  main  matters,  and  sufficiently  urge  them,  in 
these  difficult  times,  I  find  not  many.  What  I 
have  spoken  is  the  language  of  that  which  is 
not  called  amiss,  'The  good  old  cause.'     If  it 

Milton.  11 


242  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

seem  straiig:c  to  any,  it  will  not  seem  more 
strange,  I  hope,  than  convincing  to  backsliders. 

"Thns  mnch  I  should  perhaps  have  said, 
though  I  were  sure  I  should  have  spoken  only 
to  trees  and  stones,  and  had  none  to  cry  to, 
but  with  the  prophet,  '0  earth,  earth,  earth!' 
to  tell  the  very  soil  itself  what  her  perverse 
inhabitants  are  deaf  to.  Nay,  though  what  I 
have  spoke  should  happen — which  Thou  suffer 
not  who  didst  create  mankind  free,  nor  Thou 
next  who  didst  redeem  us  from  being  servants 
of  men — to  be  the  last  word.'?  of  our  expiring 
libert}'.^*'-' 

But  Milton's  plaintive  yet  powerful  appeal 
was  without  effect.  The  nation  had  gone  mad 
with  discontent  and  desire  for  change,  and  in 
1660  the  popular  clamor  summoned  Monk, 
whom  the  conflict  of  factions  and  his  own  influ- 
ential position,  united  to  make  the  arbiter  of 
events,  to  reinitiate  the  old  regime. 

That  tlu-ice- infamous  renegade,  placing 
honor  behind  his  back,  and  banishing  from 
remembrance  his  former  Puritan  convictions 
and  republican  professions,  pushed  by  the  per- 

•  Prose  Works,  Vol.  HI.,  pp.  421-428. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  213 

suasions  of  the  meanest  self-interest,  ruthlessly 
and  perfidiously  abandoned  his  old  associates 
to  the  butcher}^  of  legal  vengeance,  and  with- 
out a  single  stipulation  for  their  safet}^  or  the 
preservation  of  the  national  liberty,  surren- 
dered the  Commonwealth  "  to  the  dominion  of 
a  master  in  whom  voluptuousness  and  cruelty 
were  confounded  in  a  disgusting  embrace." 
This  betraj'al  of  a  sacred  cause  entrusted  to 
his  keeping,  and  his  restoration  of  the  mon- 
archy loithout  a  8])edjied  condition^  has  fairly 
entitled  Monk  to  be  called  the  Judas  Iscariot 
of  British  politics. 

Against  this  fatal  reaction  Milton  struggled 
so  long  as  there  was  hope.  When,  however, 
the  final  thunder-cloud  burst  upon  him  and  his 
party,  and  the  news  of  the  conclusion  of  the 
negotiations  with  Charles  II.  at  Breda  was 
received,  together  with  his  own  dismissal  from 
the  Latin  Secretaryship  by  order  of  the  Par- 
liament, his  saddened  yet  undaunted  heart 
prompted  him  to  take  some  precautionary 
measures  for  his  personal  safety. 

Milton  had  acted  too  prominent  and  decid- 
ed a  part  in  the  revolution  not  to  be  made  to 


244  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

feel  the  keenest  edge  of  the  restored  prince's 
resentment.  He  therefore  quitted  his  famous 
abode  in  Petty  France,  where  he  had  resided 
liappily  and  in  great  renown  during  eight  of 
the  eventful  years  of  his  connection  with  the 
government,  and  where  he  had  been  visited 
by  multitudes  of  persons  eminent  in  the  belles- 
lettres,  political,  and  religious  circles  of  the 
time ;  and  while  Charles  advanced,  amid  the 
acclamations  of  tlie  tickle  masses,  to  reseat 
himself  upon  the  throne  of  his  fathers,  the 
deposed  Secretar}'^  sought  an  obscure  asylum 
under  the  roof  of  a  devoted  friend,  where  he 
trusted  to  outlive  the  first  flush  of  the  king's 
severity  of  punishment. 

Thus  inauspiciously  ended,  w^hen  he  was  at 
the  age  of  fifty-two,  John  Milton's  glorious 
and  beneficent  public  career,  in  which  he  had 
proved  himself  as  superior  to  his  contempora- 
ries in  polemics  and  Christian  statesmanship, 
as  it  was  still  reserved  for  him  to  prove  him- 
self superior  to  all  rivals  in  the  different 
sphere  of  the  sublimest  poetry. 

Then  also  was  inaugurated  that  age  which 
Macaule}'  paints  with  a  ])en  of  fire:    "Then 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  '215 

came  those  days  never  to  be  recalled  without 
a  blush,  the  days  of  servitude  without  loyalt}^ 
and  sensuality  without  love,  of  dwarfish  tal- 
ents and  gigantic  vices,  the  paradise  of  cold 
hearts  and  narrow  minds,  the  golden  age  of 
the  bigot  and  the  slave  ....  the  government 
had  just  ability  enough  to  deceive,  and  just 
religion  enough  to  persecute.  The  principles 
of  liberty  were  the  scoff  of  every  grinning 
courtier,  and  the  anathema-maranatha  of  every 
fawning  dean." 

And  here,  at  the  close  of  Milton's  public 
life,  it  may  not  be  inappropriate  to  glance 
briefly  at  the  S3^stem  upon  which  he  asserts 
his  political  career  to  have  been  based. 

When  the  popular  opposition  to  the  usur- 
pations of  the  prelates  commenced,  and  the 
model  of  the  reformed  churches  was  compared 
disadvantageously  to  those  of  others,  seeing 
the  way  open  for  the  establishment  of  true 
liberty,  Milton  felt  called  of  God  to  write  in 
defence  of  justice  and  toleration. 

He  conceived  that  there  were  three  kinds 
of  liberty  essential  to  the  happiness  of  social 
life — religious,    domestic,   and    political.     To 


246  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

promote  the  first,  lie  wrote  against  the  prelates, 
and  published  the  treatises  on  the  Reformation. 
Perceiving  that  the  whole  people  were  eager 
in  the  pursuit  of  their  civil  rights,  and  that 
they  then  needed  little  scholarly  assistance,  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  subject  of  domestic 
libert}-,  which  he  also  divided  into  three  de- 
partments— the  nature  of  the  conjugal  relation, 
the  education  of  children,  and  the  free  publi- 
cation of  opinion.  These  subjects  he  sever- 
ally and  respectively  considered  in  the  trea- 
tises on  divorce,  in  the  tractate  on  education, 
and  in  the  Areopagitica,  or  plea  for  unlicensed 
printing. 

With  regard  to  civil  affairs,  he  left  them 
in  the  hands  of  the  magistrates  till  it  became 
necessary  to  vindicate  the  right  of  lawfully 
dethroning  or  destroying  tyrants. 

Such  were  the  fruits  of  his  private  studies  ; 
and  these  he  gratuitously  presented  to  justice 
and  liberty  in  church  and  state,  receiving 
scoffs  and  persecution  as  his  reward  from  his 
own  ungrateful  age,  though  posterity  has 
crowned  him  with  its  laureate  wreath. 

But  notwithstanding  the  ingratitude  of  his 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  247 

countrymen,  cozened  and  heated  by  the  glitter 
of  the  throne,  Milton  says,  "The  actions  them- 
selves procured  me  peace  of  conscience  and 
the  approbation  of  the  good,  while  I  exercised 
that  freedom  of  discussion  which  I  loved." 


248  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


CHAPTER   XYII. 

MiLTOx  remained  securely  hidden  in  tlie 
house  of  that  friend  in  need,  whose  name  has 
escaped  the  most  careful  inquiry,*  during  the 
first  four  months  of  the  Restoration.  Safely 
sheltered  himself,  he  saw  with  grievous  sorrow 
that  the  heads  of  many  of  his  old  associates 
were  bared  to  the  pitiless  pelting  of  the  storm 
of  persecution. 

Meantime  a  vote  of  the  House  of  Commons 
had  decreed  the  public  prosecution  of  the  ex- 
secretary,  and  also  ordered  that  two  of  his 
most  obnoxious  pamphlets,  the  '' Iconodastes^'' 
and  the  ''Defence  of  the  People  of  England,''^ 
should  be  burned  by  the  common  hangman. 
It  is  not  probable  that  these  measures  troub- 
led ]\lilton  very  seriously.  He  had  seen  one 
of  these  same  works  publicly  burned  in  the 
squares  of  Toulouse  and  Paris,  and  yet  it  had 
survived.  Nor  can  it  be  imagined  that  his 
serenity  was  much  disturbed  by  the  futile  ma- 

t  Symmons'  Life,  p.  429. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  249 

lignity  of  his  oft-beaten  enemies,  who  eagerly 
seized  upon  this  hour  of  his  political  undoing 
to  publish  the  refuted  slanders  of  the  dead  Sal- 
masius. 

Still  Milton  ran,  through  all  this  period, 
a  fearful  personal  risk.  The  proclamation 
against  himself  and  another  of  the  noted  char- 
acters of  the  time,  John  Goodwin,  who  had 
written  a  tract  against  the  king  entitled,  "  The 
Obstruders  of  Justice,^'  issued  immediately  after 
the  coronation  of  Charles,  was  5"et  out,  declar- 
ing that  "the  said  John  Milton  and  John 
Goodwin  are  so  fled  or  so  obscure  themselves 
that  no  endeavors  used  for  their  apprehension 
can  take  effect,  whereby  they  may  be  brought 
to  legal  trial  and  deservedly  receive  condign 
punishment  for  their  treasons  and  offences.'""' 

Some  of  his  friends,  esteeming  the  danger 
that  menaced  his  life  to  be  imminent,  actually 
bruited  it  through  the  streets  that  he  was  dead, 
and  they  contrived  for  him  a  sham  funeral. f 
Afterwards,  when  matters  had  been  accommo- 
dated, Charles  laughed  heartil}'  at  the  trick. 

•  Kennet's  Chronicle,  p.  189. 

t  Wharton's  Second  Ed.'of  Milton's  Minor  Poems,  p.  358.     I^d- 
mey's  Life,  p.  218.     Todd's  Life,  p.  101. 

11* 


250  THE  LIFE  AXD  TIMES 

"The  king,"  says  an  old  historian,  "applaud- 
ed his  policy  in  escaping  the  punishment  of 
death  by  a  seasonable  show  of  d3'ing.'"'=' 

It  is  also  certain  that  a  number  of  influ- 
ential gentlemen  ardently  exerted  themselves 
at  this  crisis  of  Milton's  life  to  secure  his 
preservation, f  and  it  was  probably  to  this 
kind  intervention  that  he  owed  his  security, 
since  no  keen  search  for  him  was  ever  insti- 
tuted. 

Milton's  offence  had  been  more  grave  than 
that  of  the  regicides  themselves:  they  had  only 
put  one  king  to  death,  he  had  attacked  the  ver^^ 
office,  and  memorialized  posterity  against  the 
idea  of  kingship,  lavishing  the  most  splendid 
panegyrics  upon  the  rebellion  and  the  most 
prominent  and  obnoxious  actors  in  it ;  and  it 
was  well  known  that  with  these  glowing  eulo- 
giums  in  her  hand  the  muse  of  history  would 
march  proudly  down  through  the  ages  with  the 
immortal  trust.  Yet  contenting  himself  with 
the  babble  of  spiteful  words,  and  the  absurd 
comedy  of  burning  his  pamphlets,  the  king  per- 

*  Cmmingbam's  Hist,  of  Great  Britain,  Vol.  I.,  p.  li. 
t  Symmons'  Life,  pp.  4"27,  428. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  251 

mitted  the  great  architect  of  the  ruin  of  his 
house  to  go  untouched.  This  clemency  was 
due,  not  to  the  heart  or  brain  of  the  effeminate 
prince  who  then  acted  like  a  puppet  the  part 
of  king,  but  to  the  powerful  influence  of  active 
friends,  whose  menacing  intercession  made  it 
dangerous  to  punish  Milton,  and  convenient  to 
overlook  him. 

Andrew  Marvell,  his  old  associate  in  office 
under  the  Commonwealth,  then  member  of  Par- 
liament for  Hull,  made  all  possible  influence 
for  him  in  the  House  of  Commons,  while  Sir 
William  D'Avenant,  one  of  the  most  amiable 
and  influential  gentlemen  of  the  day,  whose  life 
Milton  had  saved  when  he  had  been  captured 
by  the  fleet  of  the  Commonwealth  in  his  pas- 
sage from  France  to  America  and  ordered  to 
his  trial  before  the  High  Court  of  Justice,  in 
1651,  now  eagerly  requited  that  kind  act  by 
one  of  equal  generosity.* 

Thus,  in  one  way  or  another,  Milton  man- 
aged to  survive  the  opening  months  of  the  Res- 
toration, until,  on  the  29th  of  August,  1660, 
the  "Act  of  Oblivion"  opened  the  doors  of  his 

*  Wood,  AtheiUTj  Oxon,  Vol.  II.,  p.  •112. 


252  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

asylum,  and  allowed  liim  safely  to  emerge  from 
his  secrecy. 

The  clemency  of  Charles  in  the  i)romulga- 
tion  of  the  act  of  oblivion  has  been  the  theme 
not  only  of  lavish  contemporarj'  panegyric,  but 
also  of  later  eulogium  ;  but  "  the  time  has  long 
elapsed  in  which  praise,  unsupported  by  truth, 
can  be  admitted  on  the  plea  of  passion." 

It  has  been  well  remarked  by  an  able  and 
candid  writer,"^'  that  'if  we  reflect  that  Charles 
was  not  now  reclaiming  his  rojid  right  as  a 
conqueror ;  that  the  nation  was  not  trembling 
at  his  feet,  and,  like  a  city  taken  by  storm,  in 
a  state  to  be  thankful  for  every  deed  of  brutal 
violence  which  was  not  committed ;  but  that,  in 
truth,  he  was  an  impotent  exile,  receiving  gra- 
tuitously a  crown  from  the  very  hands  which 
had  torn  it  from  his  family,  from  a  Parliament 
a  great  majority  of  whose  members  had  been 
active  in  the  overthrow  of  the  monarchy,  and 
from  an  army  which  had  immediately  conduct- 
ed his  father  to  the  scaffold,  we  may  reason- 
abl}'  inquire  by  what  acts  he  could  have  dis- 

•  Dr.  Sytomons,  in  his  Life  of  Milton,  pp.  431,  432,  433,  434, 
435,  436. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  253 

covered  a  stronger  propensity  to  cruelty  tlian 
he  did  in  the  first  moments  of  power  conferred 
on  him  by  his  recent  popularity.  When  his 
heart  ought  to  have  been  softened  by  the  un- 
expected influx  of  prosperous  foi-tune,  he  elud- 
ed the  proposition  which  was  made  to  him  at 
Breda  for  a  general  amnesty,  and  evidently 
discovered  that  his  spirit  brooded  revenge. 

"When  he  was  seated  on  his  throne,  he 
accepted  those  victims  which  the  perfidious- 
ness  of  party,  in  expiation  of  its  own  offences, 
was  so  base  as  to  offer  him  ;  and  he  glutted  the 
nation,  so  far  as  he  durst,  with  an  effusion  of 
blood  not  more  guilty  than  that  of  thousands, 
perhaps,  who  were  present  to  behold  it;  for 
they  who,  from  their  office,  were  more  person- 
ally engaged  in  the  trial  and  execution  of  the 
king,  were  unquestionably  not  more  criminal 
than  were  all  those  who  had  voted  for  these  vio- 
lences in  Parliament,  or,  in  the  army,  had  first 
planned,  and  then  imperiously  carried  them  into 
effect.  More  however  than  they  who  were  re- 
garded as  the  actual  regicides  were  exempted 
from  the  benefit  of  the  amnesty.  Neither  Yane, 
nor  Peters,  nor  Lambert  was  immediately  im- 


254  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

plicated  in  the  murder  of  the  king;  vet  the 
two  former  were  shiughtered,  and  Yane  in 
violation  of  the  royal  promise  to  the  Parlia- 
ment for  his  pardon;  while  the  last,  the  most 
guilty  of  the  three,  w^as  indeed  permitted  to 
live,  but  to  live  only  in  a  state  of  miserable 
exile. 

"But  not  limited  to  the  sufferings  of  the 
living,  the  vengeance  of  Charles  extended  itself 
to  mean  and  atrocious  outrages  on  the  dead. 
It  broke  the  hallowed  repose  of  the  tomb,  and 
exhibited  that  last  infirmity  of  our  mortal  na- 
ture, the  corruption  through  which  it  is  doomed 
to  pass  into  its  kindred  earth,  to  the  derision 
and  the  disgust  of  impotent  malignity.  When 
we  behold  the  bodies  of  the  illustrious  usurper 
and  of  the  formidable  Ireton  torn  from  their 
graves,  and  made  the  subject  of  idle  punish- 
ment, we  are  less  disposed  to  wonder  than  to 
smile  at  the  cow^ardly  and  pitiful  insult;  but 
when  w^e  see  subjected  to  similar  indigni- 
ties, the  mouldering  remains  of  the  noble- 
minded  Blake,'-'  of  the  mild  and  amiable  Clay- 

*  Blake,  the  famous  admiral  whose  name  stands  first  on  the 
pages  of  the  naval  history  of  England,  and  whose  integi-ity  and 
patriotism  need  no  vouchers. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON,  255 

pole,*  one  of  whom  bad  strenuously  opposed  all 
the  crimes  of  her  father's  ambition,  and  the  other 
had  carried  the  thunder  and  the  fame  of  his 
country  to  the  extremities  of  the  world,  we  are 
shocked  b}^  the  infam}^  of  the  deed,  and  arc 
tempted  in  the  bitterness  of  our  hearts,  to  vent 
a  curse  upon  the  savageness  of  the  perpetra- 
tors." 

Upon  his  appearance  once  more  in  society, 
Milton  was  arrested,  probably  in  consequence 
of  the  order  for  his  apprehension  issued  in 
the  preceding  June  by  the  House  of  Commons. 
The  sequel  is  to  be  derived  from  the  following 
Minutes  in  the  journals  of  the  House : 

"Satukday,  15tli  Decern.,  1G60. 

"  Ordered,  That  Mr.  Milton,  now  in  cus- 
tody of  the  Serjeant  attending  this  House,  be 
forthwith  released,  paying  his  fees." 

"Monday,  17th  December. 

"A  complaint  made,  that  the  serjeant-at- 
arms  had  demanded  excessive  fees  for  the 
imprisonment  of  Mr.  Milton, 

"Ordered,  That  it  be  referred  to  a  com- 

•  Mi-s.  Clayijole,  CromweU's  favorite  daughter,  a  lady  of  singu- 
larly upright  and  humane  character. 


256  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

mittee  for  privileges,  to  examine  this  business, 
and  to  call  Mr.  Milton  and  the  serjeant  before 
them,  and  to  determine  what  is  fit  to  be  given 
to  the  Serjeant  for  his  fees  in  this  case." 

What  the  conclusion  of  this  committee  was 
we  know  not;  but  it  is  certain  that  Milton  was 
unconditionally  released  within  a  day  or  two, 
and  that  he  rented  a  house,  first  in  Holborn, 
near  Red  Lion-square,  where  he  resided  but  a 
few  months;  next,  in  1662,  removing  to  Jew- 
en-street;  then  to  a  small  house  in  the  Artil- 
lery-walk, adjoining  Bunhill-fields ;  and  in  this 
residence  he  continued  until  the  close  of  his 
life. 

It  is  related  by  Richardson  that,  at  some 
intermediate  period  after  he  left  Jewen-street, 
he  resided  with  Millington,  a  celebrated  auc- 
tioneer of  that  age,  who  was  accustomed  to  lead 
his  venerable  and  illustrious  lodger  through 
the  streets  for  air  and  exercise.* 

In  or  about  the  year  1602,  Milton  once 
more  entered  into  the  marriage  state,  his 
choice  being  on  this  occasion  a  Miss  Elizabeth 
Minshall,    the    daughter    of  a   gentleman    of 

*  See  Kicharilsou's  Life  of  Milton. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  257 

Cheshire,  and  a  distant  relative  of  the  poet's 
good  friend  and  medical  adviser  Dr.  Paget, 
then  a  phj'sician  of  eminence  in  London,  upon 
whose  advice  it  was  that  Milton  now  married. 

This  lad}"  appears  to  have  made  him  an 
excellent  and  faithful  wife,  tending  him  with 
the  utmost  solicitude,  and  carefully  protecting 
him  from  the  imposition  of  heartless  and  false 
friends  and  relations.*  From  Mrs.  Milton  a 
number  of  interesting  personal  incidents  touch- 
ing her  husband's  mode  of  life,  are  to  be  glean- 
ed. Among  other  things,  she  relates  that  he 
composed  principally  in  the  winter;  and  on  his 
waking  in  the  morning,  he  would  request  her 
to  write  at  his  dictation  sometimes  twenty, 
sometimes  thirty  verses.  On  being  asked 
whether  Milton  did  not  frequently  consult  Ho- 
mer and  y irgil,  she  replied  that  ' '  he  stole 
from  nobody  but  the  muse  who  inspired  him ;" 
and  to  a  lady  who  inquired  who  that  muse  was, 
she  quickly  answered,  "it  was  God's  grace  and 
the  Holy  Spirit  that  visited  him  nightl3^"t 

It  is   sad  and  revolting  to  be  obliged  to 

*  Mrs.  Slilton  sur^dved  her  husband  some  fifty-five  j-ears,  dying 
at  Namptwich,  in  her  native  Cheshire,  in  the  year  1729. 
t  Newton's  Life  of  Milton. 


258  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

relate  that,  previous  to  his  marriage,  Milton 
suffered  seriously  from  the  ill-treatment  of 
those  whom  this  venerable  father,  in  his  non- 
cupative  will,  quite  recently  discovered  and 
published,*  which  shows  Milton  to  have  been 
amiable  and  forgiving  in  all  those  domestic 
scenes  in  which  alone  he  has  seemed  liable  to 
censure  or  unworthy  of  sympathy,  calls  his 
''unkind  children."  We  are  assured  that 
against  these  unnatural  daughters  Milton  was 
frequently  obliged  to  appeal  for  protection 
even  to  his  servants,  one  of  whom,  in  a  depo- 
sition under  oath,  affirms  that  the  poet's  com- 
plaints were  not  extorted  from  him  by  slight 
wrongs,  or  uttered  by  capricious  passion  upon 
trivial  provocations;  but  that  his  children, 
with  the  fjrobable  exception  of  Deborah,  then 
a  little  thing  but  nine  years  old,  would  even 
sell  his  books,  and  that  they  habitually  com- 
bined with  the  maid-servant,  advising  her  to 
cheat  her  master  and  their  father  in  her  mar- 
keting, since  he  was  sightless  and  would  be 
none  the  wiser.      One  of  them,  Mary,  upon 

•  It  "wras  first  published  br  Tbomton  in  an  appendix  to  the 
pref&c«  of  bis  second  edition  of  Hilton's  JuTenile  Poems,  and  is 
weil  entitled  to  the  reader's  attentire  perosaL 


OF  JOHN  MILTOIT,  250 

being  mformcd  of  her  father's  intention  to 
marrj,  replied  that  "  that  was  no  news ;  but 
if  she  could  hear  of  his  death,  that  would  be 
something/'* 

Milton  had  taught  two  of  his  daughters  to 
read  and  pronounce  with  the  nicest  propriety 
the  English,  Italian,  Spanish,  Greek,  Latin, 
and  Hebrew  languages.  There  was  therefore 
no  work  in  any  of  these  tongues  which  he 
could  not  hear  read  to  hini,  though  they  did 
not  understand  any  but  their  mother  tongue. 
Learning  that  his  daughters  complained  of  this 
employment  as  drudgery,  the  proud  spirit  of 
John  Milton  would  not  brook  such  grudged 
assistance,  and  he  instantly  dispensed  with 
their  aid,  and  procuring  for  them  the  know- 
ledge of  some  useful  trades  suited  to  their  sex 
and  tastes,f  he  secured,  though  he  was  now 
[)oor  and  could  ill  afford  the  expense,  the  ser- 
vices of  a  private  secretary. 

From  the  domestic  tyranny  of  his  daugh- 
ters Milton's  marriage  at  once  secured  him, 
and  he  gained  that  ease  of  mind  and  tranquil- 
lity of  spirit  which  were  necessary  to  enable 

•  Symmotui'  Lite^  ppt  4A1,  442.  f  lTinuey'«  Life,  p.  22L 


260  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

him  to  prosecute  his  transcendent  literary  proj- 
ects to  a  successful  couclusiou. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  and  a  remarkable  trib- 
ute to  Milton's  unrivalled  genius  and  states- 
manship, that  he  was  offered  about  this  time, 
1CG2-3,  the  Latin  Secretaryship  of  State  under 
the  king.  But  to  accept  office  under  a  govern- 
ment in  which  he  did  not  believe,  whose  hands 
were  still  red  with  the  blood  of  his  old  politi- 
cal friends  of  the  Commonwealth,  would  have 
been  an  act  of  recreant  sycophancy  to  which 
his  high  and  unsullied  spirit  could  never  stoop. 
Accordingly,  when  his  wife,  attentive  only  to 
the  advancement  of  his  worldly  fortunes,  urged 
him  to  accept  the  ap})ointment,  he  silenced 
her  with,  "You  are  in  the  right;  3'ou,  as  other 
women,  would  ride  in  your  coach;  but  my 
aim  is  to  live  and  die  an  honest  man.'* 

*  This  liigli  anecdote  rests  on  the  authority  of  Kichardson, 
•who  received  it  from  Henry  Bendish,  a  grandson  of  Cromwell's, 
and  an  intimate  in  Milton's  house  at  this  time. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  261 


CHAPTER    XYIII. 

Banishing,  so  far  as  possible,  all  cares  and 
anxieties  from  his  mind,  Milton  forgot  the  in- 
stability of  fortune,  the  treachery  of  parties, 
the  fickleness  of  the  unthinking  multitude,  and, 
seated  in  his  study,  gave  himself  up  to  the  full 
pleasure  of  that  poetic  composition  which  had 
ever  been  his  passion.  After  the  publication 
of  several  trifles,*  he  surrendered  himself  com- 
pletely to  the  work  of  elaborating  and  finish- 
ing that  immortal  epic,  ''  Paradise  Lost, ^^  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  he  had  commenced  in  1655, 
while  acting  as  Latin  Secretary  to  the  Common- 
wealth, and  which  had  until  lately  been  laid 
aside,  owing  to  the  manifold  distractions  and 
misfortunes  which  had  beset  his  career.  Now 
however,  resuming  his  epic  pen,  he  daily  ap- 
proached nearer  and  yet  more  near  to  the 
transcendent  climax  of  his  poem. 

*  A  short  treatise  on  ^^  Accidence  in  Grammar,"  for  juvenile 
students,  and  another  manuscript  of  Sir  Walter  Kaleigh's,  entitled, 
"Aphorisms  of  State." 


262  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

It  was  about  tlie  liiiio  of  Milton's  marriage 
thnt  he  formed  the  now  liistoric  acquaintance 
with  Tliomas  EUwood,  a  pious  and  learned 
Quaker,  and  one  of  the  ablest  writers  of  the 
societ}'  of  Friends.  Ellwood,  who  has  left  a 
history  of  his  own  life,  thus  relates  his  connec- 
tion with  Milton : 

"John  Milton,  a  gentleman  of  great  note 
for  learninpj  throughout  the  learned  world,  for 
the  accurate  pieces  he  had  written  on  various 
subjects  and  occasions.  This  person  having 
filled  a  public  station  in  former  times,  lived 
now  a  private  and  retired  life  in  London ;  and 
having  wholly  lost  his  sight,  kept  always  a  mnn 
to  read  to  him,  which  usually  was  the  son  of 
some  gentleman  of  his  acquaintance,  whom  in 
kindness  he  took  to  improve  in  learning.  Thus 
by  the  mediation  of  m}"  friend  Isaac  Penning- 
ton with  Dr.  Paget,  and  of  Dr.  Paget  with 
John  Milton,  was  I  admitted  to  come  to  him ; 
not  as  a  servant  to  him,  which  at  that  time  he 
needed  not,  nor  to  be  in  the  house  with  him ; 
but  only  to  have  the  liberty  of  coming  to  his 
house,  at  certain  times  when  I  w^ould,  and  to 
read  to  him  what  books  he  should  appoint  me. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  263 

Understanding  that  the  mediation  for  my  ad- 
mittance with  John  Milton  had  succeeded  so 
well  that  I  might  come  when  I  would,  I  hasten- 
ed to  London,  and  in  the  first  place  went  to 
wait  njDon  him. 

"He  received  me  courteously,  as  well  for 
the  sake  of  Dr.  Paget  who  introduced  me,  as 
of  Isaac  Pennington  who  recommended  me ;  to 
both  whom  he  bore  a  good  respect.  And  hav- 
ing inquired  divers  things  of  me  in  respect  to 
my  former  progression  in  learning,  he  dismiss- 
ed me  to  provide  myself  such  accommodations 
as  might  be  most  suitable  to  my  future  studies. 
I  went  therefore  and  took  myself  a  lodging  as 
near  to  his  house,  which  was  in  Irwen-street, 
as  conveniently  I  could ;  and  from  thencefor- 
ward went  every  day  in  the  afternoon,  except 
on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  and  sitting  by  him 
in  his  dining-room,  read  to  him  in  such  books 
in  the  Latin  tongue  as  he  pleased  to  hear  me 
read. 

"At  my  first  sitting  to  read  to  him,  ob- 
serving that  I  used  the  English  pronunciation,'^' 

*  There  are  two  ways  in  wliicli  the  Latin  language  is  pronounc- 
ed, the  Enrjlish  and  the  Conllnenlal.  It  seems  from  Ellwood,  that 
Milton  preferred  the  latter. 


264  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

lie  told  ine,  'if  I  would  liave  the  benefit  of  the 
Latin  tongue,  not  only  to  read  and  understand 
Latin  authors,  but  to  converse  with  foreigners, 
either  abroad  or  at  home,  I  must  learn  the 
foreign  pronunciation.'  To  this  I  consenting, 
he  instructed  me  how  to  sound  the  vowels. 
Perceiving  with  what  earnest  desire  I  pursued 
learning,  he  gave  me  not  only  all  the  encour- 
agement, but  all  the  help  he  could.  For  hav- 
ing a  curious  ear,  he  understood  b}-  my  tones 
when  I  understood  what  I  read,  and  when  I 
did  not. 

"Some  time  before  I  went  to  Alesbury 
prison'''  in  1665,  I  was  desired  by  my  quondam 
master,  Milton,  to  take  a  house  for  him  in  the 
neighborhood  where  I  dwelt,  that  he  might  get 
out  of  the  cit}^,  for  the  safety  of  himself  and 
his  family,  the  pestilencef  then  growing  hot 

*  Ellwood  was  imijrisoned  several  times  by  the  bigots  of  that 
age  on  account  of  his  Quaker  piiuciples,  from  which  no  persecu- 
tion was  ever  able  to  alienate  him. 

t  In  the  following  year,  IGCG,  the  plagiie  raged  with  ghastly 
fury  in  London,  decimating  the  poinilation.  Nothing  like  that 
holocaust  of  death  was  ever  witnessed  in  that  city  before  or  since. 
And  the  great  plague  j'ear  is  still  mentioned  in  England  with  a 
Bhudder.  To  crown  the  full  hon'ors  of  the  scene,  1666  was  also 
the  year  of  the  terrific  conflagration  in  Loudon  already  mentioned, 
which  half  destroyed  the  citv. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  265 

ill  London.  I  took  a  pretty  box  for  him  in 
Giles  Chalfont,  a  mile  from  me,  of  which  I  gave 
him  notice;  and  intended  to  have  waited  on 
him,  and  seen  him  well  settled  in  it,  bnt  was 
prevented  by  that  imprisonment.  But  now, 
being  released  and  returned  home,  I  soon 
made  a  visit  to  him,  to  welcome  him  into  the 
country. 

"  After  some  common  discourses  had  passed 
between  us,  he  called  for  a  manuscript  of  his; 
which  being  brought,  he  delivered  to  me,  bid- 
ding me  take  it  home  with  me,  and  read  it  at 
my  leisure ;  and  when  I  had  so  done,  to  return 
it  to  him  with  my  judgment  thereupon. 

"When  I  came  home  and  had  set  myself 
to  read  it,  I  found  it  was  that  excellent  poem 
'  Paradise  Lost.'  After  I  had,  with  the  best 
attention,  read  it  through,  I  made  him  another 
visit,  and  returned  him  his  book,  with  due 
acknowledgment  of  the  favor  he  had  done  me 
in  communicating  it  to  me.  He  asked  me  how 
I  liked  it,  and  what  I  thoudit  of  it,  which  I 
modestly  but  freely  told  him ;  and  after  some 
further  discourse  about  it,  I  pleasantly  said  to 
him,  'Thou  hast  said  much  here  of  'Paradise 

MlltOD.  12 


266  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Lost,''  but  what  hast  thou  to  say  of  Paradise 
Found?''  He  made  no  answer,  but  sat  some 
time  in  a  muse,  then  broke  off"  that  discourse, 
and  fell  upon  another  subject. 

"After  the  sickness  was  over,  and  the  city 
well  cleansed  and  become  safely  habitable 
again,  he  returned  thither;  and  when  after- 
wards I  went  to  wait  on  him  there,  which  I 
seldom  failed  of  doing  whenever  any  occasion 
drew  me  to  London,  he  showed  me  his  second 
poem,  called  '  Paradise  Regained,'  and  in  a 
pleasant  tone  said  to  me,  '  This  is  owing  to 
you ;  for  you  put  it  into  my  head  by  the  ques- 
tion you  put  to  me  at  Chalfont,  which  before  I 
had  not  thought  of.'  "''' 

Thus  at  the  close  of  1606  Milton  had, 
against  every  disadvantage  of  domestic  and 
political  trouble,  of  pecuniary  embarrassment 
and  blindness,  prosecuted  to  a  successful  and 
triumphant  climax  his  two  great  epics.  "Con- 
sidering,'' says  Dr.  Xewton,  "the  difficulties 
under  which  the  author  lay — his  uneasiness  on 
account  of  public  affairs,  his  age  and  infirmi- 
ties, his  not  being  in  circumstances  to  maintain 

•  EUwood's  Life,  pp.  132,  134,  135. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  267 

an  amaimensis,  but  obliged  to  make  use  of  any 
hand  that  came  next  to  write  his  verses  as  he 
made  them — it  is  really  wonderful  that  he 
should  have  the  spirit  to  undertake  such  a 
work,  and  much  more  that  he  should  ever 
bring  it  to  perfection." 

Yet  the  evil  daj^s  upon  which  he  had  fallen 
could  not  shake  his  faith,  or  make  him  "bate 
one  jot  of  heart  or  hope."  His  tuneful  voice 
was 

"  Uiichangecl 


To  hoarse  or  mute,  tliougli  fallen  on  evil  days, 
On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues  ; 
In  darkness,  and  with  dangers  compassed  round, 
And  solitude." 

It  is  not  certain  how  long  Milton  resided  at 
Chalfont,  but  it  has  been  conjectured  that  it 
extended  from  June  or  July  of  1GG5  to  March 
or  April  of  1666,  or  during  the  prevalence 
and  until  the  extirpation  of  the  plague  which 
haunted  the  capital,  to  avoid  which  he  had 
changed  his  residence.*  If  this  inference  be 
correct,  Milton  must  not  onh'  have  commenced, 
but  also  completed,  the  poem  of  "Paradise  Re- 
gained," which  Ellwood  sua'o-ested  to  him,  and 

*  Symruons'  Life,  p.  451. 


268  THE  LIFE  AND   TIMES 

the  plan  oC  which  must  have  been  entirely 
unformed,  within  tlic  incredibly  short  space  of 
eight  or  nine  months. 

But  though  these  grand  and  immortal  po- 
ems were  completed  in  1666,  Milton  suffered  a 
twelvemonth  to  elapse  before  he  committed 
either  of  them  to  the  press.  It  was  not  until 
the  2Tth  of  April,  1667,  as  the  contract  for  the 
copy-right  of  "Paradise  Lost,"  with  a  pub- 
lisher named  Samuel  Simmons,  conclusively 
shows,  that  that  cMf-cVceuvre  of  John  Milton's 
laborious  and  brilliant  literary  career  was  first 
published  to  the  admiration  of  the  ages. 

Dr.  Symmons  remarks,  "  Much  surprise 
and  concern  have  been  discovered  at  the  small 
pecuniary  benefit  which  the  author  was  per- 
mitted to  derive  from  this  proud  display  of 
his  genius,  and  on  the  slow  and  laborious  prog- 
ress with  which  the  work  won  its  way  to  pub- 
lic estimation.  To  us  in  the  utmost  cultivation 
of  taste,  and  accustomed  to  admire  the  '  Par- 
adise Lost'  without  any  reference  to  its  au- 
thor or  to  the  age  in  which  it  appeared,  it  must 
certainly  seem  deplorable  that  the  copy-right 
of  such  a  composition  should  be  sold  for  the 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  269 

actual  payment  of  five  pounds,  and  the  con- 
tingent payment,  on  the  sale  of  two  thousand 
six  hundred  copies,  of  two  other  equal  sums. 
But  if  we  would  regard  ourselves  as  placed  in 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
immersed  in  all  the  party  violence  of  that  mis- 
erable period,  we  should  rather  be  inclined  to 
wonder  at  the  venturous  liberality  of  the  book- 
seller who  would  give  even  this  small  sum  for 
the  poem  of  a  man  living  under  the  heaviest 
frown  of  the  times,  in  whom  the  poet  had  long 
been  forgotten  in  the  polemic,  and  who  now 
tendered  an  experiment  in  verse,  of  which  it 
was  impossible  that  the  purchaser  should  be 
able  to  appreciate  the  value,  or  should  not  be 
suspicious  of  the  danger. 

"  Our  shame  and  regret  for  the  slow  appre- 
hension of  our  forefathers  with  respect  to  the 
merits  of  this  illustrious  production,  are  still 
more  unwarranted  than  those  which  have  been 
expressed  for  the  parsimony  of  the  bookseller. 
Before  the  entire  revolution  of  two  years,  at  a 
time  when  learning  and  the  love  of  reading 
were  far  from  being  in  their  present  wide  dif- 
fusion through  the  community,  thirteen  hundred 


270  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

copies  of  the  'Paradise  Lost'  were  absorbed 
into  circulation.  In  live  years  after  this  pe- 
riod, a  second  edition  of  the  poem  was  issued  ; 
and  after  another  interval  of  four  years,  a  tliird 
was  conceded  to  the  honorable  demands  of  the 
public.  As  we  ma}^  fairly  conclude  that,  ac- 
cording to  the  original  stipulation  of  the  book- 
seller, each  of  these  impressions  consisted  of 
fifteen  hundred  copies,  we  shall  find  that  in 
the  space  of  little  more  than  eleven  years  four 
thousand  five  linndrcd  individuals  of  the  Brit- 
ish community  were  possessed  of  sufficient  dis- 
crimination to  become  the  purchasers  of  the 
'  Paradise  Lost.' 

"Before  the  expiration  of  twenty  years, 
the  poem  passed  through  six  editions,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  abundan tl 3"  proves  that  it 
was  not  destitute  of  popularity  before  it  attain- 
ed its  full  and  final  dominion  over  the  public 
taste  from  the  patronage  of  Somers,  and  still 
more  from  the  criticism  of  Addison."''' 

The  office  of  licenser  of  printing,  which  had 
been  abolished  under  the  wise  and  liberal  gov- 
ernment of  Cromwell,  was  restored  under  the 

*  Symmons'  Life,  pp.  457-459. 


OF  JOHN   MILTON.  271 

monarchy  for  a  limited  time  by  an  act  of  Par- 
liament passed  in  1662.  Milton's  great  epic 
barely  escaped  being  strangled  at  its  birth  by 
the  malignit}''  or  the  perverse  sagacity  of  a 
Mr.  Tomkyns,  then  acting  as  licenser.  The 
quick  nostril  of  this  suspicious  and  alert  oiii- 
cial  scented  treason  in  the  well-known  simile 
of  the  sun,  in  the  first  book : 

-"As  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 


Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air. 
Shorn  of  liis  beams  ;  or,  from  behind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nation,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs." 

It  has  been  well  remarked  that  "the  press 
was  certainl}^  in  safe  hands  when  it  was  in 
those  of  this  licenser,  ....  for  an  eye  which 
could  dive  so  deeply  and  could  discern  so 
finely  was  not  likel}^  to  be  baffled  by  the  most 
profound,  or  to  be  eluded  by  the  most  subtle 
and  aerial  mischief."  Or  perhaps  Lord  Lyt- 
tleton's  acute  explanation  is  the  most  correct, 
that  "  the  politics  of  Milton  at  this  time  brought 
his  poetry  into  disgrace;  for  it  is  a  rule  with 
the  English,  tJiey  see  no  good  in  a  man  whose 
'politics  they  dislike." 


272  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

It  is  not  widiin  the  scope  of  this  Life  to 
enter  into  any  exuiiiiiuition  of  tlie  beauties  or 
the  defects  of  "Paradise  Lost,"  or  of  its  broth- 
er poem,  "  Pakadise  Regained,"  which  sin- 
gularly enough  Milton  always  preferred,  and 
which  several  competent  critics,  among  others 
Jortin  and  Warburton,  have  united  to  place 
above  "Paradise  Lost,"  though  they  have 
ever  failed  to  get  the  mass  of  readers  to  agree 
with  them.  That  harvest  has  been  so  fre- 
quently and  so  efficiently  gleaned,  that  but 
few  sheaves  would  reward  the  reaper  of  this 
late  day.  All  readers  therefore  who  are  curi- 
ous in  this  matter,  are  referred  directlj'  to  tire 
poems  themselves,  and  to  the  learned  and  acute 
comments  of  the  multitudinous  accomplished 
critics  who  have  edited  them.* 

*  See  the  Lives  by  Symmons,  Todd,  Mitford,  Newton.  Warton, 
Richardson,  Cleveland,  Turner,  and  others  ;  also  Addison's  essays 
in  the  "Spectator." 


I 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  273 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Notwithstanding  the  sadly  changed  times 
and  his  own  discrowned  political  principles, 
the  unwavering  respect  and  even  veneration 
accorded  to  Milton  after  the  Restoration,  proves 
the  high  estimation  in  which  his  genius,  integ- 
rity, and  unostentatious  piety  were  universally 
held.  Toland,  after  mentioning  that  numbers 
of  the  nobility  and  the  more  cultivated  gentry 
were  his  habitual  visitors,  adds,  "Nor  was  he 
less  frequented  b}-  foreigners  to  the  last,  than 
in  the  time  of  his  flourishing  condition  before 
the  Restoration."  Indeed  his  illustrious  for- 
eign friends  and  correspondents  always  man- 
ifested the  kindest  regard  and  exhibited  the 
most  watchful  solicitude,  from  the  unhappy  da}^ 
when  blindness  first  struck  him,  until  the  hour 
of  his  death. 

Thus  a  rumor  havino;  been  circulated  that 
he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  plague  in  1666, 
Peter  Heimbach,  a  learned  and  famous  Ger- 
man  scholar   and  politician,   and   perhaps   a 

12* 


274  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

sometime  j^upil  of  the  immortal  Englishman, 
wrote  anxiously  to  iiujuire  into  the  truth  of 
the  report.  To  this  letter  Milton  penned  the 
follo\Yiug  reply: 

"To  THE  MOST  ACCOMPLISHED  PeTER  HeIMBACH,  CotTNCIIiLOR 

OF  State  to  the  Elector  of  Bbandf-nbuegh  : 

"That  in  a  year  so  pestilential  and  so  fatal 
as  the  ])resent,  amid  the  deaths  of  so  many  of 
my  com})atriots,  3'ou  should  have  believed  me 
likewise,  as  you  write  mo  word,  in  consequence 
too  of  some  rumor  or  other,  to  have  fallen  a 
victim,  excites  in  me  no  surprise;  and  if  that 
rumor  ow^ed  its  currency  among  you,  as  it 
seems  to  have  done,  to  anxietv  for  my  welfare, 
I  feel  flattered  by  it  as  an  instance  of  your 
friendly  regard.  Through  the  goodness  of 
God  however,  who  had  provided  me  with  a 
safe  retreat  in  the  country,  I  still  live  and  am 
well ;  and  would  that  I  could  add,  not  incom- 
petent to  any  duty  which  it  may  be  my  fur- 
ther destiny  to  discharge. 

"But  that,  after  so  long  an  interval,  I 
should  have  recurred  to  your  remembrance,  is 
highl}' gratifying  to  me;  though,  to  judge  from 
your  eloquent  embellishments  of  the  matter, 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  275 

when  you  profess  j^our  admiration  of  so  many 
different  virtues  united  in  my  single  person, 
3'ou  seem  to  furnish  some  ground  for  suspect- 
ing that  I  have  indeed  escaped  from  your  rec- 
ollection. From  such  a  number  of  unions,  in 
fact,  I  should  have  cause  to  dread  a  progeny 
too  numerous,  were  it  not  admitted  that  in 
disgrace  and  adversity  the  virtues  principalh^ 
increase  and  flourish.  One  of  them,  however, 
has  not  made  me  any  very  grateful  return  for 
her  entertainment ;  for  she  whom  you  call  the 
political,  though  I  had  rather  3^ou  had  termed 
her  love  of  countr}^,  after  seducing  me  with 
her  fine  name,  has  nearly,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  deprived  me  of  a  countr3^  The  rest 
indeed  harmonize  more  perfectly  together. 
Our  country  is  wherever  we  can  live  as  we 
ought. 

"Before  I  conclude,  I  must  prevail  on  jou. 
to  impute  whatever  incorrectness  of  orthogra- 
phy or  of  punctuation  you  may  discover  in 
this  epistle  to  my  young  amanuensis,  whose 
total  ignorance  of  Latin  has  imposed  on  me 
the  disagreeable  necessity  of  actually  dictating 
to  him  everv  individual  letter. 


276  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

"That  3'our  deserts  as  a  man,  consistently 
with  the  liigh  i)romise  with  which  you  raised 
my  expectations  in  your  youth,  should  have 
elevated  you  to  so  eminent  a  station  in  your 
sovereign's  favor,  gives  me  the  most  sincere 
])leasure ;  and  I  fervently  pray  and  trust  that 
you  may  proceed  and  prosper.     Farewell. 

"London,  August  15,  1666." 

In  1671  Milton  published  the  ''Paradise 
Regained,'''  and  '' 8amson  Agonistes,^''^'  a  poem 
written  after  the  completion,  in  1666,  of  the 
''Paradise Lost ^^  and  the  "Paradise  Regained^ 

It  seems  peculiarly  appropriate  that  the 
blind  Samson  who  typifies  the  physical  strength 
of  antiquity,  should  be  celebrated  by  the  blind 
Samson  of  literature,  who  had  groped  for  the 
pillars,  and  who  overthrew  the  temple  of 
English  tj^ranny. 

Of  the  merits  of  this  noble  and  pathetic 
drama,  all  critics  are  loud  in  the  praise,  though 
several  writers  have  quarrelled  with  its  cou- 

*  Agonistes,  from  a  Greek  word,  meaniug  a  couteuder  in  the 
public  games  of  Greece,  wbich  were  called  agones,  wlieuce  our 
English  word  agony.  This  was  the  i^ecnliarly  sxpprojiriate  title 
which  Milton  chose  for  the  hero  of  his  drama,  the  catastrophe  of 
which  results  from  an  exhibition  of  his  strength  in  the  pubUc 
games  of  the  Philistines.     See  Symmons,  p.  490. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  277 

duct,  and  also  with  some  portions  of  its  struc- 
ture. Still,  in  pathos  of  sentiment,  in  breadth 
of  tone,  in  dignity  of  diction,  and  in  that  mar- 
vellous and  heaven-kissing  sublimity  which 
immortalizes  all  of  Milton's  more  elaborate 
compositions,  ''Samson  Agonistes^^  is  hardly 
surpassed  even  b}'  the  transcendent  glories  of 
''Paradise  Lost  J' 

Milton's  philosophy,  unlike  that  of  the  old 
philosophers  of  the  G-recian  and  Roman  schools, 
which  scorned  to  descend  to  the  advancement 
of  humble  and  useful  things,  was  derived  from 
the  broader  school  of  Lord  Bacon,  the  key  to 
whose  philosophic  system,  as  Macauley  assures 
us,  is  found  in  two  words — progress  and  util- 
it}^  Therefore,  notwithstanding  the  high  and 
ideal  level  upon  which  many  of  his  works 
stood,  he  stooped  with  grace  and  ease  to  per- 
form the  humblest  offices  of  utility.  He  had 
already  published  several  treatises  for  the 
special  assistance  and  advancement  of  young 
students.  The  year  following  the  appearance 
of  the  "Samson  Agonistes''^  witnessed  another 
instance  of  his  literary  condescension.  He 
wrote  in  1672,  for  the  aid  of  advanced  schol- 


278  THE   LIFE  AND  TIMES 

ars,  a  scheme  of  logic,  digested  on  the  plan  of 
M.  Ue  la  Ramee,  a  learned  French  Huguenot, 
who  closed  a  life  of  remarkable  vicissitude 
at  Paris  on  the  ghastlj"  eve  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. 

Milton  was  especially  attracted  towards 
Ramee  by  the  rebellion  of  his  logic  against 
the  artificial  and  antichristian  sj'stem  of  Aris- 
totle and  the  schoolmen,  an  assault  which  ^lar- 
tin  Luther  had  powerfully  commenced  years 
before  from  his  professorial  chair  at  Wittcn- 
burg,  and  which  had  ever  since  been  spirit- 
ed h^  continued  by  the  philosophical  adherents 
of  the  Reformation. 

Though  Milton's  bodily  infirmities  daily 
increased,  and  his  lamp  of  life  began  to  flicker 
ominously,  his  ardor  of  composition  was  not 
stifled  by  the  hand  of  disease,  nor  extinguished 
by  the  damp  of  blindness  and  age. 

In  1673,  attracted  and  alarmed  by  the 
rapid  and  insidious  progress  which  Catholi- 
cism, under  the  active,  open  countenance  of 
the  Duke  of  York,  afterwards  James  II.,  was 
making  in  Great  Britain,  Milton  wrote  his  last 
elaborate  prose  work,  entitled,  "J.  Treatise  of 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  279 

True  Religion,  Heresy,  Schism,  Toleration,  and 
the  best  Means  ivhich  may  he  used  to  Prevent  the 
Groivth  of  Popery J^  In  this  pamphlet,  show- 
ing that  "  the  great  interests  of  man  were  uni- 
formly the  leading  objects  of  his  regard."  he 
paints  vivldh^  the  dangers  arising  from  Jesu- 
itism ;  "strongl}^  inculcates  the  doctrine  of  mu- 
tual forbearance  and  essential  union  among 
those  Christians  of  ever}^  denomination  who 
appeal  to  the  holy  Scriptures  for  the  rule  of 
their  faith;"  and  excludes  from  his  scheme  of 
ample  toleration  the  Roman  see  alone,  as  be- 
ing not  so  much  a  religious  sect  as  a  meddle- 
some foreign  propaganda,  inimical  not  only  to 
the  ecclesiastical,  but  to  the  civil  welfare  and 
liberty  of  England. 

"Let  us  now  inquire,"  he  says,  "whether 
Poper}^  be  tolerable  or  no.  Popery  is  a  double 
thing  to  deal  with,  and  claims  a  twofold  power, 
ecclesiastical  and  political,  both  usurped,  and 
the  one  sustaining  the  other. 

"But  the  ecclesiastical  is  ever  pretended 
to  the  political.  The  pope,  by  this  mixed  fac- 
ulty, pretends  right  to  kingdoms  and  states,  and 
especially  to  this  of  England,  thrones  and  un- 


280  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

thrones  kings,  and  absolves  the  people  from 
(lieir  obedience  to  them ;  sometimes  interdicts 
to  "whole  nations  the  public  worship  of  God, 
shutting  up  their  churches ;  and  was  wont  to 
draw  away  the  greatest  part  of  the  wealth  of 
this  then  miserable  land  as  part  of  his  patri- 
mony, to  maintain  the  pride  and  luxury  of  his 
court  and  prelates;  and  now  since,  through 
the  infinite  mercy  and  favor  of  God,  we  have 
shaken  off  his  Babylonish  j'oke,  hath  not  ceased, 
by  his  spies  and  agents,  bulls  and  emissaries, 
once  to  destroy  both  king  and  Parliament, 
perpetually  to  seduce,  corrupt,  and  pervert  as 
many  as  they  can  of  the  people.  Whether 
therefore  it  be  fit  or  reasonable  to  tolerate 
men  thus  principled  in  religion  towards  the 
state,  I  submit  it  to  the  consideration  of  all 
magistrates,  who  are  best  able  to  provide  for 
their  own  and  the  i)ublic  safety." 

But  towards  the  Pai)ists  he  was  not  in 
favor  of  exercising  any  personal  harshness  or 
severity.  "Are  we,"  he  asks,  "to  punish 
them  by  corporal  punishments  or  fines  in  their 
estates  on  account  of  their  religion?  I  sup- 
pose it  stands  not  with  the  clemenc}'  of  the 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  281 

gospel  more  than  what  appertains  to  the  secu- 
rity of  the  state." 

"The  best  means  to  abate  Popery,"  he 
says,    "arises  from  the    constant   reading  of 
Scripture.     The    Papal   antichristian   church 
permits  not  the  laity  to  read  the  Bible  in  her 
own  tongue.     Our  Protestant  church,  on  the 
contrary,  hath  proposed  it  to  all  men,  and  to 
this  end  translated  it  into  English,  with  profit- 
able notes  to  what  is  met  with  obscure,  thouo-h 
what  is  most  necessary  to  know  is  still  plain- 
est, that  all  sorts  and  degrees  of  men  not  un- 
derstanding it  in  the  original,  may  read  it  in 
their  mother  tongue;  ....  wherein  believers 
who  agree  in  the  main  are  everywhere  exhorted 
to  mutual  forbearance  and  charit}"  towards  one 
another,  though  dissenting  in  some  opinions. 
It  is  written  that  tlie  coat  of  our  Saviour  was 
without  seam;  whence  some  would  infer  that 
there  should  be  no  division  in  the  church  of 
Christ.     It  should  be  so  indeed ;  j^et  seams  in 
the  same  cloth  neither  hurt  the  cloth  nor  mis- 
become it ;  and  not  onl}'  seams,  but  schisms  will 
be  while  men  are  fallible.     But  if  they  dissent 
in  matters  not  essential  to  belief  while  the  com- 


282  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

moil  adversary  is  in  the  field,  and  stand  jarring 
and  pelting  at  one  another,  they  will  be  soon 
routed  and  subdued. 

''It  is  human  frailty  to  err,  and  no  man  is 
infallible  here  on  earth,"  says  Milton.  Then, 
after  enumerating  different  Christian  sects,  he 
sa3^s  of  such  as  "profess  to  set  the  word  of  God 
onl}"  before  them  as  the  rule  of  their  faith  and 
obedience,  and  use  all  diligence  and  sincerit}' 
of  heart  b}'  reading,  b}-  learning,  b}^  study,  by 
praj'er  for  illumination  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  to 
understand  this  rule  and  obe}'  it,  they  have 
done  whatever  man  can  do.  God  will  assur- 
edly pardon  them,  as  he  did  the  friends  of  Job, 
good  and  pious  men,  though  much  mistaken, 
as  there  it  appears,  in  some  points  of  doctrine. 
But  some  will  say,  with  Christians  it  is  other- 
wise, whom  God  has  promised  by  his  Spirit  to 
teach  all  things.  True,  all  things  ahsolutely 
necessary  to  salvation ;  but  the  hottest  disputes 
among  Protestants,  calmly  and  charitably"  ex- 
amined, will  be  found  less  than  such."  Of 
these  Protestants  he  adds, 

"It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  authors  or 
late  revivers  of  all   these   sects  or  opinions 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  283 

were  learned,  worthy,  zealous,  and  relii2:ious 
men,  as  appears  b}^  their  lives  written,  and  the 
fame  of  their  many  eminent  and  learned  fol- 
lowers, perfect  and  powerfnl  in  the  Scriptures, 
holy  and  unblamable  in  their  actions;  and  it 
cannot  be  imagined  that  God  would  desert 
such  painful  and  zealous  laborers  in  his  church, 
and  ofttimes  great  sufferers  for  their  conscience, 
to  damnable  errors  and  reprobate  sense,  who 
had  often  implored  the  assistance  of  his  Spirit ; 
but  rather,  having  made  no  man  infallible,  that 
he  has  pardoned  their  errors,  and  accepts  their 
pious  endeavors,  sincerely  searching  all  things 
according  to  the  rule  of  Scripture,  with  such 
guidance  and  direction  as  they  can  obtain  ol 
God  by  prayer. 

"  What  Protestant  then,  who  himself  main- 
tains the  same  principles  and  disavows  all  im- 
plicit faith,  would  persecute  and  not  tolerate 
such  men  as  these,  unless  he  means  to  abjure 
the  principles  of  our  religion?  If  it  be  asked 
how  far  they  should  be  tolerated,  I  answer, 
Doubtless  equally,  as  being  all  Protestants; 
that  is,  on  all  occasions  to  be  permitted  to  give 
an  account  of  their  faith,  either  by  arguing, 


284  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

preaching  in  their  several  assemblies,  by  jnib- 
lic  writing,  mid  the  freedom  of  printing." 

After  urging,  as  an  additional  means  of 
preventing  the  growth  of  Poper3^  the  reforma- 
tion of  their  conduct  by  professed  Protes- 
tants— a  warning  not  inappropriate  in  the  loose 
morals  and  unbridled  license  of  the  Restora- 
tion— Milton  concludes  in  these  words : 

"Let  us  therefore,  using  this  last  mean, 
last  here  spoken  of,  but  first  to  be  done,  amend 
our  lives  at  all  speed;  lest,  through  impeniten- 
Q,j,  we  run  into  that  stupidly  which  we  now 
seek  by  all  means  warily  to  avoid,  the  worst 

OF    SUPERSTITIONS    AXD    THE    HEAVIEST    OF    XLC 

Gtod's  judgments.  Popery.'' 

The  danger  which  had  awakened  Milton's 
fears,  and  which  he  put  forth  this  pamphlet  to 
avert,  erelong  became  so  palpably  near  nnd 
deadly  as  to  stir  up  a  new  rebellion,  depose 
the  Catholic  bigot  who  had  succeeded  Charles 
II.  upon  the  throne,  and  in  1688  to  hand  over 
'the  emancipated  kingdom  to  triumphant  Prot- 
estantism in  the  persons  of  "William  of  Orange 
and  Mary  Stuart. 

Besides  his  pamphlet  against  Popery,  Mil- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  285 

Ion  also  published  in  1GT3  a  second  edition  of 
liis  earlier  poems,  incorporating  several  pieces 
which  had  not  appeared  in  the  edition  of  1645. 
In  the  following  year,  1674,  his  familiar  Latin 
letters,  now  widely  celebrated,  and  some  of 
his  university  exercises,  were  published ;  and 
in  some  part  of  this  same  year  his  laborious 
and  splendid  literary  career  was  closed  by  his 
translation  of  the  Latin  declaration  of  the  Poles 
in  favor  of  the  election  of  John  Sobieski  to  the 
throne  of  Poland. 

Milton,  as  we  have  seen,  had  long  been  an 
invalid ;  the  gout  especially  had  of  late  years 
racked  his  enfeebled  frame.  Fully  and  calmly 
aware  of  his  approaching  death,  and  desirous 
of  setting  his  house  in  order,  he  sent  for  his 
brother  Christopher,  then  an  eminent  lawj^er, 
and  a  bencher  of  the  Inner  Temple,  to  whom 
he  dictated  that  nuncupative  will  to  which  we 
have  once  before  had  occasion  to  refer. 

This  duty  completed,  at  length  at  peace 
with  man,  as  he  had  alwaj^s  been  with  God, 
on  the  8th  of  November,  1674,  in  the  sixty- 
seventh  year  of  his  age,  "without  pain,  and  so 
quietly  that  those  who  waited  in  his  chamber 


286  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

were  unconscious  of  the  moment  of  his  depart- 
ure," the  bright  and  beneficent  spirit  of  Jolin 
Milton  deserted  its  fleslily  tabernacle  and 
winged  its  glad  way  to  that  ''paradise  regained'' 
whose  beatitudes  he  had  so  sublimely  chanted, 
where,  seated  among  seraphim  and  cherubim, 
he  might  still  more  transcendentl}' 

"Sing, 
And  buikl  the  lofty  rhjme." 

Upon  his  death,  Toland  says  that  "all  his 
learned  and  great  friends  in  London,  not  with- 
out a  friendly  concourse  of  the  vulgar,  accom- 
panied his  body  to  the  church  of  St.  Giles, 
near  Cripplegate,  where  he  lies  buried  in  the 
chancel." 

To  that  record  Toland  adds  this  fine  eulo- 
gium :  "Thus  lived  and  died  John  Milton,  a 
person  of  the  best  accomplishments,  the  hap- 
piest genius,  and  the  rarest  learning  which 
this  nation,  so  renowned  for  producing  excel- 
lent writers,  could  ever  3'et  show ;  esteemed  in- 
deed at  home,  but  much  more  honored  abroad, 
where  almost  in  his  childhood  he  made  a  con- 
siderable figure,  and  continues  to  be  reputed 
one  of  the  brightest  luminaries  of  the  sciences." 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  287 


CHAPTER   XX. 

And  now  it  becomes  of  interest  to  learn 
something  of  Milton's  personal  habits,  to  glance 
somewhat  at  his  character,  and  to  trace  briefly 
his  manifold  influence  upon  his  own  age  and 
upon  posterity. 

Milton  habitually  dedicated  the  commence- 
ment of  each  day  to  religion.  Immediately 
upon  rising,  which  was  "with  the  birds,"  a 
chapter  of  the  Scriptures,  usually  in  the  Greek 
or  Hebrew  text,  was  read  to  him.  The  sub- 
sequent interval  till  seven  o'clock  he  passed  in 
private  meditation.  At  seven  he  breakfasted. 
From  seven  till  twelve  he  devoted  to  reading 
and  writing;  after  he  lost  his  sight,  he  dictated 
when  "some  friendlj''  hand  supplied  him  with 
a  pen."  From  twelve  to  one  he  occupied  in 
exercise.  He  had  ordered  a  peculiar  kind  of 
swing  to  be  constructed  in  his  stud}",  and  upon 
this  he  was  accustomed  to  practise  gymnastic 
feats.  At  the  conclusion  of  this  hour  of  exer- 
cise he  took  his  frugal  dinner  ;   after  which, 


288  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

repairing  to  his  organ,  he  resigned  himself  to 
the  delightful  recreation  of  music,  instrumen- 
tal, vocal,  or  both.  From  this  amusement  he 
returned  to  his  books  or  writing,  with  fresh 
inspiration  and  renewed  strength.  At  six  he 
received  the  visits  of  his  friends;  at  eight  he 
supped,  very  simph' ;  and  at  nine,  having 
smoked  a  pipe  and  taken  a  glass  of  water,  for 
of  wine  or  of  any  strong  liquors  he  was  not  a 
friend,'-'  he  retired  to  his  repose. 

Such  was  the  ordinary  routine  of  Milton's 
day,  though  of  course  this  distribution  of  his 
hours  was  not  stereotyped,  but  bent  to  cir- 
cumstances. "When  he  was  in  office,"  saj's 
Dr.  S^'mmons,  "many  of  his  four  and  twenty 
hours  were  unquestionabl}^  engaged  in  business ; 
and  as  a  table  was  allowed  him  by  government 
for  the  entertainment  of  learned  foreigners,  this 
scheme  of  life  could,  at  that  juncture,  have 
been  but  very  imperfectly  followed. ''f  But  it 
is  probable  that  during  his  later  years  he  re- 
sumed these  regular  and  domestic  habits. 

"  Milton,"  says  Toland,  "  was  middle  sized, 

*  Todd's  Life,  p.  144.     I^'imcy,  p.  250..    Toland's  Life, 
t  Symmons'  Life,  pp.  510,  511. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  289 

and  well  proportioned,  his  deportment  was 
erect  and  manly,  his  hair  of  a  light  brown,  his 
featnres  exactly  regular,  his  complexion  won- 
derfully fair  when  a  youth,  and  ruddy  to  the 
last. 

"  He  was  affable  in  conversation,  of  an  equal 
and  cheerful  temper,  and  highly  delighted  with 
all  sorts  of  music,  in  which  he  was  himself  not 
meanly  skilled.'** 

What  is  termed  the  unequal  flow  of  Mil- 
ton's genius  has  provoked  much  comment. 
Some  writers,  Toland,  for  instance,  assigned 
the  spring  as  the  season  of  his  special  and 
highest  activity  ;  Philips,  his  nephew,  declared 
that  his  "vein  never  flowed  happil}'  but  from 
the  autumnal  equinox  to  the  vernal ;"  while 
Richardson,  with  a  proper  respect  to  the  ardent 
character  of  Milton's  intellect,  doubts  whether 
he  could  suffer  any  work  to  lie  still  for  a  con- 
siderable period.  When  we  reflect  that  those 
great  controversial  writings  which  elicited  the 
admiring  plaudits  of  contemporary  Europe 
were  written  at  various  times  of  the  jear,  we 
shall  probably  dismiss  the  idea  that  Milton 

*  Toland's  Life.     Wood's  Fasti  Oxou,  p.  266. 

Milton.  1.3 


290  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

could  not  sufficiently  command  his  faculties  to 
write  sublimely  at  any  season,  though  doubt- 
less particular  seasons  somewhat  afifected  his 
spirits  and  intellectual  activity,  precisely  as 
the  climate  affects  all  minds,  at  certain  times 
clouding  the  full  splendor  of  his  genius,  and  at 
other  luminous  moments  inspiring  him  to  soar 
with  easy  effort  and  kiss  the  stars. 

Milton's  domestic  life  has  usually  been  con- 
sidered the  vulnerable  spot  in  the  heel  of  this 
Achilles.  At  that  the  venomed  shafts  of  bitter 
critics  have  long  been  aimed.  But  we  appre- 
hend that  even  that  spot  upon  the  disc  of  his 
fair  fame  disappears  before  an  impartial  exam- 
ination. It  seems  certain  that  in  his  conduct 
towards  his  wives  he  displayed  no  deficient 
tenderness.  "To  his  first,"  says  one  of  his 
biographers,  "his  conduct  seems  at  least  to 
have  been  exempt  from  blame ;  to  his  last  two 
to  have  been  distinguished  by  uniform  kind- 
ness and  affection." 

As  regards  his  "unkind"  daughters,  he 
seems  to  have  acted  towards  them,  through  all 
their  disrespect  and  negligence,  the  part  of  an 
affectionate  and  considerate  father.    "Well  edu- 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  291 

cated  and  ampl}^  provided  for,  when  tliey  com- 
plained of  the  hardship  of  ministering  to  his 
phj'sical  and  intellectual  comfort,  Milton  in- 
stantly dismissed  them  to  more  congenial  pur- 
suits ;  continuing  to  support  them,  though  the}^ 
refused  to  raise  a  finger  to  ease  the  heavy  load 
under  which  their  blind  father  staggered,  until 
they  voluntarily  quitted  his  roof. 

Milton  left  but  three  children,  all  the 
daughters  of  his  first  wife.  Of  these  Anne,  the 
eldest,  who,  though  deformed,  possessed  some 
beauty,  married  well,  but  died  in  giving  birth  to 
her  first  child.  Mary,  the  second  daughter,  is 
said  to  have  been  the  most  unfilial  of  the  three ; 
of  her  little  is  known,  save  that  she  died  unmar- 
ried. Deborah,  the  youngest,  and  the  least 
guilty  of  them  all,  left  her  father's  house  in  con- 
sequence of  some  disagreement  with  her  step- 
mother, and  repairing  to  Ireland  in  company 
with  a  lady  named  Merian,  shortly  after  married 
there  a  weaver  of  Spitalfields,  Abraham  Clarke. 
Falling,  later,  into  some  distress,  she  was  tar- 
dily relieved  by  a  donation  from  Joseph  Addi- 
son, and  by  a  present  from  Queen  Caroline  of 
fifty  guineas.     She  had  several  children,  all  of 


292  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

whom  iiowevoi-  slic  outlived;  and  wlien,  in 
1754,  she  herself  died,  after  a  life  of  singular 
and  touching  penury  and  wretchedness,'-'  the 
last  descendant  of  John  IMilton  vanished  from 
the  earth. 

Milton's  religious  tenets  have  been  the 
theme  of  much  idle  speculation.  The  wildest 
bigot,  even  in  his  most  heated  moment,  has 
never  ventured  to  question  the  sincerity,  fer- 
vor, and  essentially  evangelical  character  of 
Milton's  Christian  belief  and  practice;  it  is 
what  is  termed  his  pecuhanties-f  of  faith  which 
have  provoked  comment.  Most  of  this  criti- 
cism is  based  upon  the  following  brief  para- 
graph in  Toland's  life  of  the  poet. 

"In   his  earlv  davs  he  was  a  favorer  of 


*  Symmous'  Life,  pp.  528,  529. 

t  Sometime  in  the  reign  of  George  IV.,  a  L.atin  manuscript  was 
discovered  in  the  state  paper  office  bearing  Jlilton's  name,  and 
containing  sentiments  in  some  respects  at  variance  with  those 
which  have  been  attributed  to  him  in  this  work.  By  command  of 
the  king,  this  manuscript  was  translated  and  pubUshed  in  1825, 
under  the  title  of  ".4  Treatise  on  Ghrisiian  Doclrine,  compiled  from 
the  Holy  Scriptures  alone.     By  John  Milton." 

It  has  been  asserted  that  this  pamphlet  placed  Milton  in  the 
Arian  ranks.  It  is  doubtful  on  many  accounts — it  was  not  discov- 
ered until  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  i\Iilton's  death — whether 
he  ever  wrote  it.  Even  if  he  did,  the  above  inference  caimot  be 
"  — -x  from  it. 


OF  JOHN   MILTON.  293 

those  Protestants  then  opprobriousl}^  called  b}^ 
the  name  of  Puritans;  in  his  middle  years  he 
was  best  pleased  with  the  Independents  and 
Anaba2:)tists,  as  allowing  of  more  liberty  than 
others,  and  coming  nearest,  in  his  opinion,  to 
the  primitive  practice;  but  in  the  latter  part 
of  his  life  he  was  not  a  professed  member  of 
any  particular  sect  among  Christians,  he  fre- 
quented none  of  their  assemblies,  nor  made  use 
of  their  peculiar  rites  in  his  famil3^" 

Upon  this  passage  Dr.  Sj^mmons  very 
judicioush'  remarks,  "  The  fact  of  Milton's  not 
frequenting,  in  the  latter  period  of  his  life,  any 
place  of  public  worship,  may  possibly,  though 
still  with  caution,  be  admitted  on  the  single 
testimony  of  Toland  f  but  the  cause  of  this 
fact  may  more  properly  be  sought  in  the  blind- 
ness and  infirmities  which  for  some  of  his  last 
3'ears  confined  the  great  author  to  his  house, 
than  to  any  disgust  with  which  he  had  been 
affected  by  a  nearer  insight  into  the  imperfec- 

*  It  should  be  remembered  that  Toland  was  au  ojien  infidel, 
and  he  would  naturally  seek  to  identify,  so  far  as  possible,  the 
views  of  Milton  with  his  own,  or  at  least  to  bridge  over  the  impas- 
sable chasm  which  separated  them.  For  this  cause  Symmous 
receives  his  testimony  with  hesitation. 


294:  THE  LIFE  AND  Ti:\rES 

tions  of  contending  sects.  On  any  determina- 
tion of  this  question,  narrow  must  be  the  mind 
of  that  man  wlio  can  suspect  the  devotion  of 
Milton  merely  because  it  was  not  exercised 
within  the  consecrated  precincts  of  a  church. 
We  know  that  a  good  man  may  offer  his  hom- 
age to  God  with  as  strong  an  assurance  of  ac- 
ceptance, in  the  Lybian  desert  as  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  St.  Paul.''* 

Dr.  Newton  considers  Milton  to  have 
been  a  Quiefist,  full  of  the  interior  of  religion, 
though  he  so  little  regarded  the  exterior.f 
Dr.  Johnson  observes  that  "he  grew  old 
without  any  visible  worship ;  but  that  he  lived 
without  prayer,  can  hardly  be  affirmed ;  his 
studies  and  meditations  were  an  habitual  pray- 
er."! 

To  us  it  seems  that  all  these  surmises  are 
flippant  and  impudent.  What  shall  we  say  of 
that  idle  curiosity'  which  stands  indulging  in 
dilettante  speculation  concerning  the  orthodoxy 
of  John  Milton's  creed — ^Milton,  who  consecrat- 
ed the  opening  hours  of  each  da}'  to  the  exer- 

•  Synimous'  Life,  pp.  524,  525. 

t  Todd's  Life,  pp.  154,  155.  X  Johnsou'.s  Life. 


or  JOHN  MILTON.  295 

cises  of  devotion ;  who  initiated  bis  children 
and  his  pupils  with  careful  zeal  into  the  i)i'in- 
ciples  of  Christianity ;  who  never  wrote  even 
the  most  trilling  pamphlet  without  descanting 
upon  the  merits  or  the  sufferings  of  the  Re- 
deemer of  mankind ;  whose  larger  works  are 
replete  with  the  essence  of  godliness,  and  many 
of  which  were  written  in  elucidation  of  obscure 
points  of  religious  doctrine,  or  for  the  purpose 
of  reforming  ecclesiastical  abuses,  and  assimi- 
lating the  modern  church  more  closely  to  its 
primitive  model ;  whose  latest  elaborate  writ- 
ing was  devoted  to  an  earnest  plea  for  the 
closer  union  of  the  evangelical  sects — Milton, 
whose  sublimest  poems  are  made  immortal  by 
hymning  the  praises  of  that  very  Christianity 
whose  necessary  forms  some  critics  hesitate  to 
acknowledge  that  he  valued. 

It  is  certain  that  Milton  was  not  a  rigid 
sectarian,  being  much  more  anxious  to  secure 
essential  Christian  agreement,  than  earnest  for 
similarity  o^  form;  this  trait  of  his  character, 
in  connection  with  his  infirmity  and  blindness, 
may,  in  his  later  years,  have  made  him  less 
desirous  than  in  his  youth  of  prominently  iden- 


29G  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

tifyinii;  liiinself  with  any  one  of  (he  various 
evangelical  sects;  but  his  whole  career  exhaled 
the  very  odor  of  sanctit}' ;  his  life  bloomed  with 
the  beatitudes. 

A  notion  exists  that  John  Milton  passed 
the  last  fourteen  years  of  his  life  in  sullen 
gloom,  plunged  in  penury,  soured  by  disap- 
pointment,* unchecred  by  sympathy  or  aj)pre- 
ciation.  Nothing  could  be  more  untrue,  noth- 
ing could  be  more  unjust  to  his  memory. 

Although  with  the  peculiar  carelessness  of 
generous  and  high  souls,  he  never  attached 
undue  value  to  monc}',  or  made  any  effort 
to  hoard  it,  he  left  a  considerable  estate  upon 
his  death.  Though  never  affluent,  he  had 
inherited  from  his  AUher  some  property.  As 
Latin  Secretary,  his  income  had  been  ample 
for  his  support;  while  the  large  sale  of  his 
political  writings  before  and  during  the  revo- 
lution, 3'ielded  him  no  mean  revenue.  U])on 
the  Restoration,  two  thousand  pounds,  which  he 
had  placed  in  the  excise  oflice,  were  lost  to  him 
l)y  confiscation;  he  had  before  lost  a  similar 
sum  b}^  an  abuse  of  confidence,  the  scrivener 

t  Todd's  Life,  p.  152. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  297 

to  whom  it  had  been  intrusted  fiiiliiig  to  make 
a  due  return.  By  the  great  fire  in  166G,  his 
father's  old  residence  in  Bread-street,  where 
he  w^as  born,  and  which  had  descended  to  him, 
was  destro^^ed ;  and  after  his  dismissal  from 
the  secretaryship  of  state,  of  course  liis  official 
salary  was  cut  off.  Yet  notwithstanding  this 
series  of  financial  misfortunes,  Milton  contrived, 
by  the  paucity  of  his  wants  and  economical 
finesse,  not  only  always  to  keep  himself  above 
want,  but  actually  to  devise,  for  the  subsistence 
of  his  famil}^,  upwards  of  three  thousand  pounds, 
including  the  amount  he  had  received  by  the 
sale  of  his  librarj^,  disposed  of  a  little  before 
his  death,  and  his  first  wife's  dowry,  which 
then  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Powells  still 
unpaid. 

So  far  from  being  soured  b}'  disappoint- 
ment or  unappreciated,  after  his  rescue  by  mar- 
riage from  the  cruelty  of  his  unnatural  daugh- 
ters, he  lived  in  unbroken  peace  and  serenity 
of  temper.  He  continued  to  be  the  recipient 
of  the  most  o-ratifvino-  notice  of  illustrious  for- 
eigners,*  to  whom,  on  their  visits  to  England, 

\  Symmons'  Life,  p.  511. 
13* 


298  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

he  formed  the  j)iincipal  object  of  curiosity  and 
regard ;  and  though  deserted  in  his  misfortunes 
by  the  gay  and  sycophantic  crowd  of  his  own 
countrymen  who  had  fluttered  about  him  in 
more  prosperous  days,  there  were  numerous 
generous  and  discerning  souls  who  appreciated 
his  personal  merits,  and  warmly  recognized  his 
transcendent  genius. 

Nor  were  his  friends  and  admirers  confined 
to  those  of  his  own  creed  and  politics.  One  of 
the  foremost  poets  in  English  letters,  Dryden, 
upon  being  handed  by  the  Earl  of  Dorset  a 
volume  of  ''Paradise  Lost,^^  which  that  noble- 
man had  accidentally  picked  up,  and,  struck 
with  the  majesty  of  certain  passages,  given  to 
him  with  the  request  that  he  should  pronounce 
an  opinion  upon  it.  remarked,  after  an  atten- 
tive perusal,  "This  man  cuts  us  all  out,  and 
the  ancients  too."  Shortly  afterwards,  as 
Aubrey  informs  us,  Dryden  called  upon  Milton 
and  solicited  permission  to  construct  a  drama 
upon  his  epic.  Milton  readily  assenting,  with 
the  remark  that  he  saw  no  objection  to  this 
scheme  of  "tagging  his  lines,"  the  result  was 
the  production  of  Dry  den's  opera,  "  TAe  State 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  299 

of  Innocence  and  the  Fall  of  Man.'''^  In  the 
preface  to  this  opera,  which  was  not  published 
till  1676,  two  years  after  Milton's  death,  "Dry- 
den  is  sufficiently  liberal  in  his  acknowledg- 
ments to  the  majestic  and  venerable  poet  with 
whose  materials  he  had  constructed  his  own 
beautiful  edifice." 

Milton  was  in  his  temper  somewhat  grave 
and  haughtj^,  though  not  unpleasantly  or  obtru- 
sively so.  He  could  at  times  descend  to  bandy 
epithets,  and  to  jocularity  ;  but  though  his  sar- 
casm is  terrible,  nay,  almost  annihilating,  his 
wit  is  ponderous,  and  when  he  jokes  it  is  like 
the  gambol  of  an  elephant;  he  seems  out  of 
his  element.  He  never  appears  to  so  great 
advantage  as  when, 

"High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind, 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  East  with  richest  hand 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  gold  and  pearls," 

he  sits  in  majesty  and  discourses  upon  high 
morals,  settles  religious  differences,  and  gives 
vocal  expression  to  the  beneficent  impulses  of 
liberty. 

But  if  in  his  deportment  he  exhibited  some- 

*  Aubrey's  Life  of  Milton. 


300  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

thing  of  conscious  superiority  and  a  little  im- 
patience of  opposition,  bis  heart  was  too  kind 
and  his  charity  was  too  broad  to  i)ermit  him 
ever  to  give  intentional  offence.  Wlien  con- 
vinced of  error,  no  one  was  more  ready  to 
recant.  When  convicted  of  over-veheinent 
resentment,  no  one  w^as  more  willing,  nay, 
anxious  to  make  atonement.  When  wronged, 
no  one  was  more  ready  to  forgive,  as  witness 
his  cordial  reconciliation  with  his  erring  but 
repentant  wife.  If,  lashed  into  severity  by 
the  brutal  personality  of  his  political  assail- 
ants, he  retorted  with  crushing  power,  and 
sometimes,  hurling  back  the  scurrilous  epi- 
thets which  they  had  showered  upon  him,  beat 
them  at  their  chosen  weapons,  sufficient  justi- 
fication is  usuall}'  found  in  the  circumstances 
under  which  he  defended  himself;  or  ])erhaps 
Solomon's  aphorism  will  apply:  "  Answei  a  fool 
according  to  his  folh',  lest  he  be  wise  in  his 
own  conceit." 

Instant  in  season  and  out  of  season  in  the 
defence  of  those  civil  and  religious  principles 
which  he  esteemed  essential  to  the  welfare  of 
society,  if  any  heedless  or  venturous  adversary 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  301 

dared  to  assail  them,  his  sacred  animosity  was 
instantly  kindled,  and  be  his  opponent  king  or 
courtier,  priest  or  layman,  scholar  or  ignora- 
mus, this  knight-errant  of  truth,  buckling  on 
his  armor  for  Grod  and  liberty,  went  gladly 
into  the  arena,  eager  for  the  combat. 

Milton's  erudition  was  immense.  Of  the 
two  dialects  of  the  Hebrew,  and  of  the  Greek, 
Latin,  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  languages, 
he  was  the  master.  Passionately  fond  of  read- 
ing, his  favorite  classical  authors  were  Homer, 
Ovid's  ^Metamorphoses,''  and  Euripides.  Ho 
also  himself  informs  us  that  "the  divine  vol- 
umes of  Plato  and  his  equal  Xenophon,"  were 
chief  objects  of  his  regard.  His  skill  in  Latin 
was  such,  says  Dr.  Johnson,  as  places  him  in 
the  first  rank  of  writers  and  critics.  In  Ital- 
ian, his  melodious  sonnets  have  received  from 
Italian  critics  the  highest  eulogiums;  and  in 
skilful  use  of  the  Tuscan  he  rivals  Petrarch, 
and  at  times  Dant^  himself. 

But  vast  as  was  his  literature,  no  book  was 
so  frequently  in  his  hands  as  the  Bible,  none 
yielded  him  such  solace  and  support.  "  It 
must  gratify  every  Christian  to  reflect,"  says 


302  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

Mr.  Ilayley,  "that  tlie  man  of  our  country 
most  eminent  for  energy  of  mind,  for  intense- 
ness  of  application,  and  for  frankness  and  in- 
trepidity in  asserting  what  he  believed  to  be 
the  cause  of  truth,  was  so  confirmedly  devoted 
to  Christianit}',  that  he  seems  to  have  made 
the  Bible  not  only  the  rule  of  his  conduct,  but 
the  prime  director  of  his  genius.''  And  Milton 
himself  says  he  penned  his  plea  for  unlicensed 
printing,  "  hoping  that  his  name  might  deserve 
to  appear,  not  among  the  mercenary  crew  of 
false  pretenders  to  learning,  but  the  free  and 
ingenuous  sort,  of  such  as  evidently  were  born 
for  study,  and  love  learning  for  itself,  not  for 
lucre,  or  any  other  end  but  the  service  of  God 
and  truth,  and  perhaps  that  lasting  fame  and 
perpetuity  of  praise  which  God  and  good  men 
have  consented  shall  be  the  reward  of  those 
whose  published  labors  advance  the  good  of 
mankind."* 

In  his  influence  upon  his  own  time  and 
upon  succeeding  ages,  Milton  stands  absolutely 
without  a  rival  in  English  letters.  Broader 
than    Bacon,    sublimor    than    Dryden,    more 

*  Miltou's  "  AreopajUica."    Prose  Works. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  303 

statesmanlike  than  Pym  or  the  younger  Vane, 
freer  from  the  infirmity  of  ambition  than  Crom- 
well, more  scholarly  than  Hampden,  finer  than 
Pope,  grander  than  Burke — these  men,  so 
illustrious  in  the  various  circles  of  philosophy, 
politics,  poetrj^,  and  Christianity,  stand  witli 
proud  humility  at  his  feet. 

"From  the  power  of  Milton,  the  English 
language  has  obtained  a  sublimity  adequate  to 
the  loftiest  conceptions  of  the  human  mind, 
and  a  variety  and  a  richness  of  harmony  on 
which  his  poetic  successors,  including  Dry  den 
himself,  have  been  utterly  unable  to  improve."' 

But  civil  and  religious  liberty  stand  most 
heavily  in  his  debt. 

In  Milton's  age,  the  British  Constitution  had 
not  settled  down  upon  its  present  foundations 
of  comparative  liberty.  Those  nice  checks  and 
balances  which  enable  it  now  to  combine,  to 
some  extent,  democratic  energy  with  the  sta- 
bility of  an  hereditary  order,  and  which  have 
served  to  curb  so  completely  the  prerogatives 
of  the  crown,  that  the  king  is  moved  by  the 
will  of  the  ministry,  these  Britain  owes  to  the 
efforts  of  Milton  and  his  compeers,   who,  in 


304  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

1640,  Ibllowing  in  the  footsteps  of  the  old  bar- 
ons at  Runnymede,  insisted  ujion  the  enlarge- 
ment of  |)Oj)ular  liberty  and  the  curtailment  of 
the  arbitrar}'  assumptions  of  the  crown. 

In  the  century  preceding  Milton's  epoch, 
"the  impetuous  power  of  the  Tudors,  spring- 
ing from  the  disastrous  consequences  of  the 
wars  between  the  factions  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster, had  overleaped  ever}'^  barrier  of  the 
Constitution."'  In  Milton's  age,  "  the  amlji- 
tion  of  the  Stuarts,  at  a  period  less  favorable 
to  the  exertion  of  lawless  prerogative,  had  dil- 
igently followed  in  the  track  of  their  insolent 
and  tyrannical  predecessors.  On  whatever 
side  he  looked,  Milton  saw  nothing  but  insult- 
ed parliaments,  arbitrary  taxation,  illegal  and 
sanguiuar}'  tribunals,  corrupt  and  mercenary 
law,  bigoted  and  desolating  persecution.  With 
that  ardent  love  of  liberty  therefore,  which 
always  burns  brightest  in  the  most  expanded 
and  elevated  bosoms,  and  fresh  from  the  schools 
of  Greece  and  Rome  which  had  educated  the 
masterspirits  of  the  world,  it  was  natural  for 
him  to  turn  with  delight  from  the  scene  in 
which  he  was  engaged,'*  to  the  contemplation 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  305 

of  those  republican  forms  of  govcniinciit  in 
which  the  value  of  manhood  was  fully  recog-- 
nizecl,  and  political  and  ecclesiastical  equalit}^ 
were  enthroned  in  the  statute-book. 

Such  a  government  he  made  a  galhmt 
though  unsuccessful  attempt  to  organize  in 
England.  But  though  he  failed,  the  effects  of 
his  brave  effort  are  clearly  traceable  in  the 
present  and  the  constantly  increasing  liberal- 
ity of  the  British  Constitution.  While,  upon 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  Milton's  ideal  dreams 
have  been  stereotyped  into  a  grand  republic, 
planted  by  those  sturdy  Puritans  wdio  were 
his  intellectual  children,  in  successful  o{)cra- 
tion  from  the  Atlantic  coast  to  the  shores  of 
the  peaceful  sea,  upon  whose  phylacter}"  is 
inscribed  his  glorious  motto  of  the  iron  days  of 
the  Commonwealth,  ''Toleration,  equality,  and 
devotion  to  the  good  old  cause." 

Such,  in  his  life  and  in  his  influence,  was 
John  Milton.  And  now,  arrived  at  the  close 
of  this  unwMM-thy  and  imperfect  record  of  his 
radiant  and  beneficent  career,  we  devoutly 
thank  God  for  lending  to  the  human  race  so 
high  a  teacher,  so  grand  a  benefactor.     "The 


306  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 

sight  of  his  books,  the  sound  of  his  name,  are 
refreshing  to  us.  His  thoughts  resemble  those 
celestial  fruits  and  flowers  which  llie  virgin 
martyr  of  Massinger  sent  down  from  the  gar- 
dens of  Paradise  to  the  earth,  distinguished 
from  the  productions  of  other  soils  not  only  by 
their  superior  bloom  and  sweetness,  but  by 
their  miraculous  efficacy  to  invigorate  and  to 
heal.  They  are  powerful  not  only  to  delight, 
but  to  elevate  and  purify. 

"Nor  do  we  envy  the  man  who  can  study 
either  the  life  or  the  writings  of  the  great  poet 
and  patriot  without  aspiring  to  emulate,  not 
indeed  the  sublime  works  with  which  his  gen- 
ius has  enriched  our  literature,  but  the  zeal 
with  which  he  labored  for  the  public  good,  the 
fortitude  with  which  he  endured  every  private 
calamit}',  the  lofty  disdain  with  which  he  looked 
down  on  temptation  and  dangers,  the  deadly 
hatred  which  he  bore  to  bigots  and  t3Tants, 
and  the  faith  which  he  so  sternly  kept  with 
his  country  and  with  his  fame."'^' 

Over  John  Milton's  grave  civil  and  relig- 
ious liberty  clasp  hands;  science,  poesy,  and 

•  Miioimley's  Miscellaneous  Writings,  Essay  on  Milton. 


OF  JOHN  MILTON.  307 

"divine  philosophy"  strew  upon  it  garlands  as 
immortal  as  his  name ;  while  the  muse  of  his- 
tory, dipping  her  pencil  in  the  sunlight,  sculp- 
tures through  proud  tears  the  scriptural  bene- 
diction, "Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant; 
enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 


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